


Larry Heartbreak

by Coin Maisy (AJMMAJ)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Cheating Harry, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Healing, Heartbroken Louis Tomlinson, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Life Partners, M/M, Makeup Sex, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22025428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJMMAJ/pseuds/Coin%20Maisy
Summary: It was the worst mistake of Harry’s life. Louis would never forgive him. Harry would have to try anyway.Harry Styles loves Louis Tomlinson. They've been together forever. Since Harry was 16 and Louis was 18. But love isn't perfect... and neither are they.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 111
Kudos: 401





	1. Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> This work was largely inspired by the beautiful and heartbreaking tale: like a bastard on the burning sea, by the talented vashtaneradas. I couldn’t seem to get the URL to work, but look it up. It’s such a fantastic piece of fiction.

Louis stared out into the night. His feet were apparently cold, as he tucked them under his thighs, applesauce style, in an attempt to keep them from freezing off.

Harry had always loved how small Louis was. Even when they were young, and before Harry's growth spurt, Louis had been small for a boy. And even at first, from those early X-Factor days, Harry could hold Louis in his arms and carry him around like the precious baby he was. Baby. Louis was Harry's baby.

"You know..." Louis' quiet voice broke the heavy silence between them. They'd been sitting there, on their balcony, for so long that late night had started to drift over to early morning.

Harry's head whipped around at the sound, anxious and scared and not at all ready but so very ready to hear anything Louis had to say. They'd been sitting in silence for too long. So long.

"I can't look at you," Louis continued, his voice cracking. 

Harry's eyes slammed shut. Tears welled under his lids. Hatred. That's what he deserved, and it's what he had earned. Louis' hatred.

"I just can't, Hazza." 

Louis buried his face in his right palm, wiping away tears that Harry couldn't see in the early morning light, but still knew were there. 

Louis took a deep, ragged breath, his voice hitching with emotion as he tried to speak. "When I look at you, I see... I see it. Every time. Every time I look at you, I see it."

Harry didn't ask for clarity on what it was. Didn't have to. Didn't need to. Didn't want to.

"I can't understand, Hazza," Louis was whispering, pitifully broken.

Harry was fighting back sobs. He had killed Louis. Louis was dying. He could see it. Could hear it in every broken, bitter attempt he made to speak. 

"I can't understand it, because, to me, you're it. Were from the moment I saw you when we were kids. The second you opened your mouth and sang. The instant your eyes met mine. I was gone. You're the only person I've ever been in love with."

Louis' words were rushing out, like air escaping a balloon or water slipping between fingers. He had to get them out. Get all of them out. Like they were eating him up from the inside. 

Harry wanted to say it was the same for him, too. That from the second he'd seen Louis' grin, heard his soft-pitch laughter and looked in his mischievous blue eyes, that he'd never had eyes for another. But that wasn't exactly true, anymore, now was it? And Harry hated himself. Hated that he wouldn't be able to say that anymore. Ever again.

Louis was still staring off into the pre-dawn, eyes trained on some bit of something somewhere towards the treetops, his profile never wavering an inch in Harry's direction. His shoulders slumped as he sat, his body hunched over his knees. Harry had never seen Louis look so small, and this way, this type of small, Harry hated.

"I can't imagine what it's like, Hazza," Louis whispered, his voice so quiet and so soft that Harry wanted to reach out and touch it, warm it in his hands, bring it back to life. Bring Louis back to life.

But Louis was crying quietly now, and Harry could see a tear fall into Louis' lap.

"I can't even begin to understand how it feels to want someone else. Even after all of this time. The thought of it makes me... it's just wrong for me. You're my one. You're my first. You're my last. You're my only. And I want it that way. Always have. Never really even questioned it."

Harry has turned his body towards Louis now, not even realizing it had happened. Not even aware. It's always been like this; like Louis has tugged a string somewhere deep inside Harry, and is slowly reeling Harry in. Closer. 

But Harry knows he can't let the pull work on him now. If he reaches out, if he tries to hold Louis now, Louis will bolt. Harry knows. He knows. So he just has to sit there, in the cold and near-dark and let Louis' words attack him. Beat him. Bloody and raw. And he deserves. He deserves all of it.

"I think about your skin, you know?" Louis is trembling, his voice and his body. "I think about how it's always felt just perfect against mine. Soft and burning and strong... I think about your curls, too. How the feel of them between my fingers makes everything all right. And the smell of your hair - tickling my nose and breathing it in... I couldn't change the sheets, you know?" Louis asks abruptly, still not turning to Harry. Still not looking at him. 

Harry nods anyway. He knows. He knows.

"Lottie wanted to change them. Tried to. I wouldn't let her."

And now Louis is crying openly, his breath hiccuping. His shoulders shaking every few breaths. And God, how Harry wants to let that tug take over. How he wants to just fall forward and give in to the pull of Louis. But he can't. Knows he can't. Knows Louis needs to say these things. Needs the distance.

"I didn't want to wash away the smell...," and Louis' small frame bends forward, as he clutches his stomach, his breath coming in gasps.

Harry has moved now, again, without knowing it. Moved before his brain even realized it and told him to stop. Jesus, Stop! So he's half on one knee and half on the deck chair, his hands in his hair, clutching at the very strands that make everything all right for Louis. He'll tear them out. He will- and offer them to his baby, if it will help. Even if it won't. 

Louis bends his face pitifully down and he's closed in on himself and Harry is desperate, holding his breath and staring, wide-eyed at Louis. Waiting. 

"The smell of you," Louis cries pitifully, through sobs. "And that's so fucking insane, right? You cheated on me. You cheated and you lied and you betrayed and you just threw away everything we had and everything we built because you're a spoiled, selfish asshole! And STILL I love you so much I can't wash our damn sheets because they smell like you!"

And Harry has moved now. Brain too late and too slow to stop his heart from following that tug from Louis. He's there- beside Louis, his head in Louis' lap, his hands clutching desperately at Louis small hips. He'll do anything. Anything. 

"Anything, Louis. Tell me. Whatever it is, I'll do it. Just tell me. I'll make it better. I'll fix it. I'll make it all right. I swear to you."

And Harry knows he's babbling. Doesn't care. Begging. He's begging. And fuck if it isn't exactly what he wants to be doing for the rest of his life. Begging Louis. His baby.

"Please, Louis. Please. I'll do whatever you need. Whatever it takes to get it back. Get you back. Get things back to where they were..."

Louis has gone still and turned to stone and Harry can feel it. Knows it was a mistake to touch him. Couldn't help it. Couldn't stop that pull he's felt since he was 16. Just as helpless now against Louis' power over him as he was with floppy hair and spots.

"Don't," is all Louis says, his voice so quiet and so broken that Harry knows it's almost over. They're in the death throes now. He's witnessing the death of his baby. His baby.

Harry sobs, unable to watch, buries his face further in Louis' lap, rubbing his tear-drenched cheeks against the soft fabric of Louis' track pants, caressing Louis' thigh with his face.

"You can't..." Louis is pleading, his voice so wracked that Harry is scared. 

He can't. He can't. Harry's fingers curl into the fabric at Louis' hips, clutching, clutching, his breath shallow as he presses his cheek to Louis' thigh.

"You can't say now," Louis cries, his voice high-pitched and still so soft, it's like a whisper. "Now, after you've ruined everything, that you'll make it better. That you can fix it. Because you're the one who broke it in the first place!"

And Harry knows. Knows Louis is right. And Harry is wrong. And Harry is bad. And everything they're going through right now is entirely Harry's fault. And there's absolutely nothing, NOTHING he can do to change it.

"It's not fair," Louis is blubbering. And Harry's arms encircle Louis' waist, his cheek pressing to Louis' stomach, even as Louis' hands try feebly to push Harry away. "It isn't. It isn't fair that I sat here. Here in our home. I sat here waiting on you. Wanting you. Loving you. And you were out there. Out there... with someone else."

Harry's sob scares him. It's loud and raw and rips out of him without his consent and he can't speak. He wants to. Wants to so badly. But what would he say? Louis is right and Harry is wrong. And deserves. He deserves.

Louis has given up pushing Harry away, and now his small hands have found their way into Harry's curls, his fingertips brushing through them, feeling the strands like fine silk on his skin. 

"I am yours," Louis whispers, his words falling like an axe down onto Harry, slicing his soul into pieces. "I thought you were mine. I..."

Harry's arms tighten around Louis and somehow, he manages, "I am. I always am. Always was. Always will be."

But he can feel Louis shaking his head from above, ready to wield another blow. "You don't get to say that to me," Louis is pleading, demanding, crying. "You can't. You gave yourself to someone else. You gave them your smile. Your touch. Your lips. Your body..."

And with each word, Louis is getting smaller, and Harry clings tighter, eyes clamped shut but squeezing onto his baby. He won't let Louis disappear. He won't. 

"You gave them what you gave me. What I thought was just... because I love you. I thought... I thought you loved me."

And Harry can't anymore. He just can't. He pulls back, watery eyes so beaten down with emotion, face swollen and white, and stares up at his Louis, who still can't look at him. 

"I do love you, Lou. I do. I can't love anyone else. It's you. And it's me. And it's all that matters to me..."

Louis shoves Harry away for real this time, so hard that Harry keels back on his haunches, eyes somehow even wider as he stumbles and lands hard on his butt, the wooden planks of their deck slamming into his tailbone.

"It's all that mattered to me," Louis cries, standing up quickly, his small fists clenched so hard his knuckles are white. 

And Harry hopes, then, actually wants Louis to punch him. To hit him and hit him and hit him. He deserves. 

Louis' eyes are finally on Harry now, blazing and bright and fucking angry and Harry has wanted it all night but the hatred he knows he deserves isn't there. It's not hatred and it kills Harry because it's worse. It's heartbreak. It's fear. It's everything that their love isn't and never has been.

"You're all that mattered to me," Louis continues, his anger instantly fading as he wraps his arms around his torso, closing in on himself again as he stands there, blue eyes looking quickly away from where Harry is sitting on his ass. "But you didn't care enough to stop. You didn't love me enough to come home to me. To talk to me. To tell me something was wrong with us. To try to fix it. You knew. You had to know. You've known me for a decade, Haz. A decade I've been in love with you. You knew what this would do. You knew. And so you just went ahead and did it."

And Harry can't have that. Because that's not true. Not for one second. 

He's on his knees again in an instant, and dammit he's crawling over to Louis, on his knees. And he doesn't even care. Because it's Louis. His baby. And he's still fighting. Fighting for the love of his life. 

"No," Harry is shaking his head so fast it's about to whip off of his neck. "No way, Lou. No. I didn't. I didn't even think. I was drunk and I was high and I was sad and I didn't even think. Not at all. It's like my brain wasn't working. I didn't even realize... didn't even think until it was half over..."

And Louis barks out a dry, cold laugh that shoots right through Harry's heart and blows a hole in it. "Half over? And what? By then, you just, figured well, fuck it? Might as well get my rocks off while I'm here!"

And Harry's hands are reaching out for Louis but Louis is too fast and steps back from his embrace. But Harry's head is shaking again. 

"No. No I stopped. I cried. I left. I threw up. I came home. I told you." And Harry is downright blubbering, his fingers in his hair again, pulling, pulling. He's desperate for Louis to understand. He has to make Louis understand. 

But Louis is angry again, and he takes another step back. "You put yourself in that situation. You went crying to someone else. Somewhere else. I was here, Haz! I was here! Waiting for you. Here. In our home. Loving you."

And Harry is sobbing again, shuffling forward on his knees, his arms quick around Louis' waist before he can step away again. And he's pressing his raw cheek into Louis’ jumper, feels the tight muscles of Louis' stomach underneath. 

"I know. I'm so sorry, baby. I love you. I always have. Always do. Never stopped. Never," And he means it. Even that night, with everything he'd taken wreaking havoc on his system, all he could think about was Louis and how they had fought and how things had been a bit bad for awhile. And how he had ever let himself get in a situation where anyone besides Louis had their mouth around him, he didn't know. But he knew it was all on him. All of it. Everything. He'd killed everything because he was so very, very wrong. 

Louis is stone in Harry's arms again, and Harry doesn't mind. Because at least he's holding his baby. At least he can breath him in like this. Touch him. See him. 

"I love you, Lou. I love you so much. I was so stupid and I fucked up and you can hate me and you should." Harry's voice is raw and soft at once, and he's gasping for air, he's crying so hard. He dares a glance up at Louis and finds teary blue eyes staring down at him, small hands frozen on Louis' stubbled cheeks. "I can't lose you, Lou," Harry pleads, begs. "I can't. I love you more than anything. You're home. You're my best friend. You're the love of my life." And Harry's voice breaks and he gasps and shakes and tries desperately to think of how to make Louis understand, believe that Harry never wanted anyone else. Never stopped loving Louis. Never meant to create this horror show they find themselves in. But all he can think of is, "Please, Lou. Please."

Louis' small hands slide down from his own face and rest gently on Harry's head. And Harry turns into it, nudging his head into Louis' hands like a kitten looking for a scratch. "You didn't think of me then," Louis whispers down to Harry. "You didn't ask for me then. You gave yourself to someone else."

"No, no, no," Harry is begging, his head shaking vehemently. "No, for you. Always for you." And he would block out the memory entirely, if he could. He'd gladly cut out that part of his brain and hand it over to Louis; he hates it at least as much as Louis does. That sickening memory of brown eyes staring up at him instead of blue. Of blond hair brushing against his tummy instead of brown. Of a deep moaning voice instead of Louis' angelic one. Harry needs to vomit.

"I love you so much, Hazza," Louis moans, tears falling quickly down his cheeks so that Harry feels one hit his own nose. 

And Harry looks up, wishing he hadn't, feels the finality in Louis' tone even before the words reach him.

"But I don't want to anymore."

And Harry breaks. He crumbles. Collapses. He's still there, on his knees, Louis in front of him. But he's gone limp. He knows he's sobbing. Hears it even through the blood rushing and ringing in his ears. Hears his own voice begging, denying. Pleading. 

"No, no, no, no, please, Lou," Harry moans, his fingers clutching at the hem of Louis' jumper, his thighs resting on his calves. "Please don't Lou. Please. I'll make it better. I can. I will. I'll show you. I'll make it go away."

But he knows it's useless. Knows it's the end. Feels it in his soul. That line from Louis' heart to Harry's. If Louis severs it, Harry will lose his way. Lose everything. 

"You don't get to say that," Louis repeats, his soft voice empty and sad and cold. 

Harry can't look at him but must. Can't see Louis look at him that way, but is too scared to look away because it may be the very last time he ever sees his baby again. And the wail that rips from Harry is absolutely frightening. 

"Please, Lou. Please. Don't. Don't stop loving me." 

And it's sad and selfish and pathetic and Harry knows it. But if there's anything he's always known it's that Louis loves Harry. The world doesn't make sense if Louis doesn't love him. There's nothing left. 

Louis is watching him now with a far away look in his eyes. A look that scares the shit out of Harry because he's never seen Louis look at him that way before. It's like Harry's a specimen behind glass that Louis can no longer be bothered to watch. 

"I'm... I'm leaving," Louis says finally, his blue eyes looking back at the treetops again. 

And Harry breaks even further, unaware that he could. He presses his hands to his eyes and whimpers silently and continuously. It can't be happening. It just can't.

"I'll... I'll give you a couple of days. You know, to get all your stuff out. Find a place. I'll be at a friend's."

And Harry is shaking all over, ears still ringing and yet he can't not hear Louis' voice. His Lou. His baby. The one thing that makes everything make sense.

"Don't call," Louis says. 

And then Harry hears him move, hears his small feet shuffle on the deck planks and Harry has to, has to look up. Has to watch. Has to see Louis as much as he can. For as long as he can. So he watches. He watches the love of his life turn and go back inside their home. Watches him through the patio door as Louis goes to the hall table and grabs his Keys. Watches as he shuffles toward the door.

And Harry's on his feet. He can't not chase Louis down. It's Louis. His baby.

"Lou, listen!" Harry's half-shouting, his feet loud and huge and stumbling as he flies toward their front door, Louis' hand already on the knob. 

Louis stops, doesn't move to open the door. Freezes in place, but doesn't turn around. Doesn't look back at Harry. Can't. 

"I choose you, Lou," Harry cries, hands in his hair again. He wants to hold Louis- wants to grab him and keep him here. Wants to never ever let him go. But he can't, so he grabs himself, instead. Keeps his own hands busy. "I choose you forever. I choose the you from day one and the you from today. I keep choosing you and will keep choosing you forever and ever. So..." and he hiccups as he takes a breath, knowing he's babbling but also knowing he's got this one last shot at keeping Lou here. Keeping his life together. Keeping the one person that he loves above everyone else. "You can leave. You can hate me. And You're right to. But I will keep choosing you. I love you. I will prove it to you again and again. I choose you. Forever." 

And he can't help it then, because Fuck ALL, Louis hasn't moved other than to bow his head at Harry's words. He's still here. And as long as he's here, it's not over. It's not done. There's a chance. So he can't help it, but he reaches out and grabs Louis' fingers with his own. Falls to his knees again because it's where he belongs when Louis is involved. On his knees from day one. On his knees forever. 

"I choose you because you're the best person I know. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I made the worst mistake of my life and it will ruin me if you leave. But I'll keep choosing you. And I'll be here. And I'll stay. And I'll keep trying and keep choosing because I can't live without you, Lou. I just can't. I won't. I don't ever want to."

Harry's fingers were clasping desperately at Louis', but Lou wasn't pulling away. He wasn't pulling away.

Finally, his voice so quiet Harry had to strain his ringing ears to understand, Louis whispered sadly, "What do you want from me, Hazza?"

And Harry had hope again. His other hand gripped Louis' hand, clasping the much smaller, much more fragile one in both of Harry's larger ones. "Only one thing, Lou. One thing, and I'll do all the rest. Don't leave. Don't leave and don't send me away. Stay. Stay here. With me. And I'll figure everything else out." 

And Harry's voice was quiet, too. And his face was contorted in pain and heartache and hope and every other emotion that meant he loved this boy more than life itself. 

Louis buried his face in his free hand, the one still holding his keys. A fragile, ragged sound escaped those perfect lips that Harry was so fucking scared he'd never get to kiss again. "I can't even look at you," Louis finally whispered, fresh tears dripping from his eyes. 

Harry squeezed Louis' hand in his own, his own tears running just as freely as Lou's. "It's ok," he coughed. "Don't look at me. I don't want to look at me, either. I hate me, too. It doesn't matter. I don't care how long it takes, or what I have to do, but I'll fix this. I'll do it all. You don't have to do anything. Except stay with me." And goddamnit if his voice didn't crack and break into shards as he said that last part. Stay with me. Please. It was all that mattered. 

And Louis was still. And still there. And not leaving. And still staying. And as every second ticked past, Harry became at once more hopeful, and more scared. 

"Lou," he finally said, hoarse and beyond any point of pride. He'd lost it all the moment he'd come back to himself, and seen his dick in someone else's mouth. "I know it's going to be so hard. I can't even..." and his voice broke off completely at the memory, because he had imagined, all too keenly, what it would feel like for him if it had been Louis who'd cheated. But he cleared his throat and soldiered on, still weeping as he knelt holding Louis' precious hand in his own. "Can't even imagine what you're feeling. But I... I know that it's better here, with you, even hating me, than out there, alone, without you." And Harry couldn't help pressing Louis' hand to his face, opening his lips and pressing wet, feverish kisses to Louis' knuckles and palm and every inch of skin he could, then rubbing his jaw against Louis' hand, trying to make his skin speak for him when his words just weren't seeming enough. 

Louis lowered his hand from his face. And dropped his keys on the floor, the loud clank jarring Harry and snapping his eyes up to look at Louis. 

Louis didn't even glance his way as he said quietly, "I'm going to bed. So tired." 

And he pulled his hand from Harry's grasp and walked mutely back down the hallway to their bedroom, shutting the door behind him quietly, but firmly.

Harry knelt there for a moment, eyes still weeping as he stared at the closed door. His mind reeled. Louis was staying. He was staying. 

Harry turned and scooped up Louis keys, and quietly returned them to their rightful place in the bowl. He stood in their hallway for a moment, unsure of quite what to do with himself. 

Louis had stayed. He was planning to leave, but he'd stayed. That was something. That was everything.

Harry spent a few minutes putting the flat in order. Loading dishes in the dishwasher, turning lights out. All while his brain was screaming at him that Louis was staying, and Louis hadn't kicked him out.

After all the little chores were done, and Harry'd made sure all the doors were locked and bolted, he knew it was time to sleep. He considered, not even fleetingly, grabbing a pillow off the couch and curling up on the floor outside their bedroom door. That way, if Louis changed his mind and tried to leave while Harry slept, Harry would be there to stop him. To beg him back again. 

But Harry knew that was crazy. And besides, if he was on the couch, he'd hear Louis walk through. Hear him grab his keys and open the front door. So Harry settled for the couch and the old afghan that Louis' gran had knitted for them. 

But Harry didn't sleep. It was nearly 6 am already, anyway. So he lay there for a few hours, thinking over and over again of all the things he was going to do to make things better. All of the ways that he was going to prove to Louis that Louis was Harry's life, and Harry had made one bloody dumb mistake, but it didn't mean the end. Didn't have to. Because Harry chose Louis. And if Harry could just convince Louis to keep choosing Harry, even one day at a time, then Harry was just absolutely going to make it all right. He had to. There was no other choice.

Around ten a.m., when Harry couldn't stay still anymore, he got up and washed up as best he could in the guest bath. He'd have to put his overnight bag in there soon, since he was absolutely certain that it would be his bathroom for the foreseeable future. Then he went to the kitchen and wiped off the counters and the table. He pulled out all of Louis' favorites: bacon, ham, eggs, potatoes for hash, and the ingredients for scratch waffles. 

Cooking was one thing Harry did very well, and he knew it made Louis weak-kneed when Harry cooked a grand meal. He pulled out all the stops possible for a last-minute brunch, even pulling together a couple of Bloody Mary's for Lou's cocktail. 

Like a finger pricking a guitar string, Harry's spine snapped the moment he heard Louis open their bedroom door. He'd been ready for it all morning, half expecting Louis to come stomping out of their bedroom at any moment and demand Harry get the fuck out. But he didn't. So when Harry heard Louis' soft shuffle down the hallway, he tried to steel himself for whatever came next, knowing that he would just keep trying. No matter what. 

Louis rounded the corner, one of Harry's too-large t-shirts half hanging off of his shoulders, and Harry bit his lip to stop himself crying at the sight. Lou only slept in Harry's t-shirts when they were apart. When he missed Harry. And Harry wanted to fall to his knees again and scream at Lou that he was here, right here, and Lou didn't need to miss him. But Harry didn't. He knew why Lou missed him. Knew that it wasn't this Harry that Lou missed, but the old Harry. The Harry before Harry'd made everything turn to shit. 

Instead of losing his shit and screaming in vain, Harry turned back to the fry-up and managed to ask, with his voice cracking only once, "Good morning. Are you hungry?"

Louis didn't respond other than to sit down at their kitchen table. But it was enough. Harry poured Louis a cuppa and finished flipping the last of the sausages. Then he carefully plated Louis' food with all the gusto he could, and pulled one of the Bloody Mary's from the fridge, setting it all in front of Louis without another word. 

Louis didn't even look up at him.

But Harry couldn't keep his eyes off his boy. It had always been that way. Even in the most inconvenient moments, when cameras had flashed and he knew some journalist or eagle-eyed fan would replay the video over and over again for scrutiny sake, Harry just couldn't keep his eyes from darting back to Louis. It was just the way it was. So Harry watched Louis glance at the plate of food, take in the cocktail artfully poured and garnished, and lick his lips over the scent of his tea, made just the way he liked it.

Harry didn't take his eyes off his boy until Louis picked up his fork and took a bite of hash. Then, saying a silent prayer of thanks, Harry turned back to the food and made sure everything was shut off. He'd saved a plate for himself and set it aside in the microwave to stay warm. He planned to pull it out and retreat to the living room or maybe the deck to give Louis alone time. But the thought of leaving Louis alone scared the shit out of Harry. What would Louis decide if left on his own?

Still, Harry knew that Louis couldn't even look at him anymore, so Harry grabbed his plate in one hand, and started to walk over to their couch, his own cup of tea in the other hand. 

But Harry hadn't got more than halfway there when he heard Louis' hoarse and raw voice ask quietly, "You're not eating here?" And Harry's eyes snapped back to Louis just in time to catch the hard swallow in Louis' throat before he added, "With me?"

And of course fucking yes Harry was eating with Louis. Of absolutely fucking course! He was nodding even as he whipped around on his heel, his tea sloshing a bit over the lip and onto his hand. But he didn't fucking care, as he slid in a chair across from Louis and set his plate and mug down. 

Harry started to cry as he caught Louis blanch and look quickly down at this plate, shoveling food into his mouth so fast to hide the fact that he had, in fact, been looking at Harry. But Harry bit back his tears, chewing on his lip as he wiped the spilled tea off his wrist. 

They ate in uncomfortable silence, Harry watching Louis closely, savoring every bit of joy he could get out of how much Louis seemed to be enjoying the food. Louis had definitely lost weight, and Harry knew it was because he hadn't been eating the month they'd spent apart. He knew that this brunch was likely the first proper meal Louis had eaten since the night...

And Harry needed to vomit again. 

He didn't have a chance, because Louis cleared his throat and Harry watched, anxious, as Louis shut his eyes with purpose, clearly preparing to say something. 

Harry was as ready as he could be. If Louis threw him out, he'd just sleep in his car. If Louis threatened to leave, then Harry would just follow. It wasn't going to get better unless they were together. That was something Harry was sure of.

But Louis didn't say anything. Instead, he finished his tea, took a last bite of bacon and hash, and then began sipping his Bloody Mary. 

Harry breathed a temporary sigh of relief. He didn't know if Louis had decided against saying whatever he'd planned, or if he simply couldn't say it just yet, whatever it was. But every moment Harry spent here, with Louis, was one step closer to getting him back. 

Harry didn't keep eating. He'd been nauseous for going on five weeks, now. He'd lost some weight, too, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was Louis.

And suddenly, watching his favorite person on earth take delicate sips of the spicy Bloody Mary, had Harry remembering another brunch, right here actually, when Harry'd made bloody Mary's for them both after a wild night out. It was a fantastic memory, actually. They'd gone to a party, the type where Louis was the center of attention and Harry was just pleased to be in his orbit. They'd had a few too many shots, and then a few too many more, and they'd had to have a driver come and pick them up. And Harry would never forget how cuddly and naughty Louis had been, sitting in Harry's lap on the ride home. So naughty that Louis had actually begged Harry to wear his Miley Cyrus Halloween costume to bed that night. And it was the memory of Harry still wearing the boots and his hair in messy little buns to the breakfast table the next day that had Harry feeling sick again. Sick because that was a great memory, and now it would always tie to this one. This memory here, of Louis sipping another Bloody Mary at their breakfast table, and instead of the sunshine smile and joyful cackle that Harry'd received that morning, Louis couldn't even look at Harry anymore.

When Louis had finished his drink, they still sat across from each other in silence, and after a decade of living together, being best friends and lovers, Harry knew that Louis was building up to saying something again. 

Harry clenched his jeans in his palms under the table in preparation.

"Thank you for the meal," Louis whispered, staring sadly down at his near-empty plate.

Harry nodded, now running his palms along the tops of his thighs, one heel bouncing against the kitchen floor. Whatever it was, he could handle it. Harry could handle it. And he'd figure it out. He'd figure out how to stay. How to make it better.

Louis sucked his lower lip into his mouth and Harry knew instinctively that Louis was fighting back tears again. But so was Harry. All they did anymore was cry. But that was ok, too. It would be ok. Harry would make it ok.

Louis took a deep breath and pushed his chair back, standing, still not looking at Harry, but glancing around anywhere but.

"I think... I just need to go..."

Harry was on his feet in an instant, too. "I'll go with you," he heard himself say.

Louis started, eyes darting to Harry in terror for half a second before landing somewhere to Harry's left as he shook his head.

"Just going for a drive, is all. Gotta get out. Think a bit," Louis was mumbling, running his fingers through his hair.

But Harry was nodding, in total agreement and panicked to make sure he went wherever Louis went. "Yeah, sounds good. I'll go with. Let me put the food away." And he'd already started gathering up their dirty dishes.

"No, Harry," Louis said firmly. 

Harry. Louis had called him Harry. He never did that anymore. Not unless they were in front of cameras. 

Harry couldn't help looking back at him with sad, soulful eyes. "But, I could just... I'll even drive. I'll be silent the whole time." And he would, somehow. He'd figure out how to not speak at all, ever again, if that's what Louis wanted. "You could just say where to, and I'll go. Sit back and relax the whole ride."

Louis bit his lip and closed his eyes slowly, trying not to say something, or trying to, Harry couldn't tell which. "I just need to be alone for a bit, is all," Louis said quietly and rather unconvincingly.

Harry drew in a sharp, ragged breath. The plates he held clanged to the table as he slumped forward a bit, defeated. But Harry wasn't going to cause a scene. Wasn't going to cause a fight. If Louis left, well, then, maybe Harry could stay back. And wait. But his brain, his brain screeched at him, "What if he doesn't come back?"

Louis must have understood how Harry was feeling, could still read his mind. And though he owed Harry nothing, he softened his voice as he said quietly, "I'll come back."

Harry's eyes snapped up, already fighting back tears but full of surprise and hope.

Louis was nodding. "I will. Just... give me a few hours. Need to... to think."

And Harry was nodding, too. It scared him, absolutely terrified him, really. But if Louis needed something, then Harry would give it and try to do so with a smile.

So Louis left, and Harry cleaned. And fretted. And fidgeted. And paced. His mum called, but he was too high strung to answer. She was checking in on him, so he texted back a quick ok sign, but nothing more. He'd call her soon. Sometime when his heart wasn't in his throat. 

Five hours later, the longest five of Harry's life, he heard Louis' engine pull into the drive and shut off. And Harry had to actually backtrack his steps, because he'd literally run to the door, ready to fling it open and grab Louis forever. Harry was still stumbling over his own feet, as he tried to step back closer to the couch, as Louis opened the door.

They stood there, Louis with a hand on the knob, Harry with a hand on the couch, and stared wide-eyed at each other for a moment, before Louis coughed and came all the way in.

He looked tired. And a bit worse even than he had that morning, but Harry said nothing other than, "Hi," weakly, trying for all the world to look like he hadn't just spent the last five hours in fear that he'd never see his Louis again.

"Hi," Louis said back as he dropped his keys in the bowl. He held two bags in his hands, too. From Flower Garden, Louis and Harry's favorite Japanese takeout place. Without explaining himself, Louis walked to the kitchen counter and set the bags down, then slowly began unpacking them.

Harry wanted to wring his hands and cry and ask where Louis had been all day, but he didn't. Louis owed him nothing other than to come back, as he promised. And he had. He had.

Harry reached past Louis and pulled down a plate for him, then grabbed a beer from the fridge and twisted off the cap bare-handed. 

But Louis ignored the plate, picked up a box of noodles and the beer, and headed over to their living room, flipping on their flatscreen before settling down, cross-legged, to eat his dinner. 

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. Louis was home. He'd come home. That's all that mattered. So Harry headed quietly to join Louis on the couch, taking the opposite end to give Louis as much space as possible.

Louis glanced quickly at Harry as soon as he'd sat. "There's enough for you, too," he said softly.

Harry's eyebrows raised. He hadn't expected that. Not now. Not with all of this going on.

"Yeah?" He breathed, staring fondly and hopefully at Louis, who's eyes were gaunt and empty as they tracked a football game across the screen. 

Louis nodded but said nothing.

So with a small smile, Harry headed back into the kitchen, using the plate for himself, and opened up the four unopened boxes left. And wow, was he in for it. Louis had quite carefully made sure that nothing in any of those boxes were things Harry wanted to eat. Box one was full of fried shrimp. Box two was nothing but pepper steak. Box three was chicken fried rice, and box four was full to the brim of each and every kind of sauce Harry hated. 

Harry frowned, instantly saddened. This had been strategic. Planned. Harry had been fully vegetarian for going on four years, now. He'd even been considering switching to vegan for awhile, which Louis had supported. But here, before him, was a plethora of the things on the menu at Flower Garden that Louis absolutely knew Harry wouldn't be able to eat. And then, suddenly, Harry had to fight back a smile. Louis had refused the plate, choosing to eat out of the takeout boxes even though he knew it bugged Harry. And he'd deliberately made sure he only ordered and offered Harry foods he knew Harry wouldn't want. Louis had definitely been planning revenge. Spiteful, mean, juvenile revenge. And it gave Harry hope. Absolutely, it gave him hope. Spite was an emotion. Just like love. And last night, and then this morning, it had almost seemed like Louis had no emotion left for Harry. But here was clear proof that he did. And as long as Louis had emotion for Harry, then Harry had something to work with. Even if it was spite. Harry could work with that.

Fighting back a small smirk, Harry re-closed the boxes and grabbed a banana off the counter instead, before re-joining Louis on the couch.

Louis, for his part, had an impassive face when Harry sat down again. But, after a few moments of silence as they watched the game, it seemed he couldn't resist. "Not in the mood for Japanese?"

And Harry could almost hear the mocking in Louis' voice. It sounded so fucking beautiful. Harry merely shook his head, eyes trained on the match. Harry could work with this. He could.

A few hours rolled by, Louis slowly easing to lay down on the couch. Harry got up a couple of times, to switch the laundry and put away Louis' leftovers. But Harry always came back to sit with Louis on the couch.

Finally, nearing 8 o'clock, Louis yawned and sat up. Without looking his way, he addressed Harry. "Tell me why."

The blood in Harry's veins froze. "Why?"

Louis nodded, his chin sharp as it nudged in his direction. "There's always a why. Any why will do."

Harry was lost. Whatever Louis needed, he would do. But there really wasn't a why. He had been out of it. And sad. And lonely. So that's what he answered.

Louis bowed his head, listening as he gripped the edge of the couch, his shoulders taught. "Why were you lonely?" He demanded bitterly. "We fucking live together," he spat, still not even glancing Harry's way.

Harry teared up. It sounded amazingly dumb now, but at the time, he'd felt rather unloved. So he said that, too.

Louis turned to him sharply. "Unloved?" He hissed. "You felt unloved? By me?" 

Harry grimaced and nodded. It was awful, he knew. It could easily sound like he was placing the blame on Louis. He wasn't. "This is on me and only me and I know that," he rushed to explain. "I was feeling sorry for myself and being selfish..." Harry swallowed hard. It wasn't hard to insult himself. It was hard to keep talking while Louis looked back at him with such disgust in his eyes.

"Shut up," Louis whispered. "Just shut up."

Harry did. He sat still, waiting, his elbows on his knees as he hugged himself, watching Louis carefully.

Harry remembered easily the first fight they'd ever had. It was on their first tour- the X-Factor tour. They'd been living out of the bus and hotel rooms for days, he and Lou bunking together every night, but both of them getting the speech from management, the crew and even Liam more times than they could count. Finally Louis had given in, trying to reason with Harry that maybe everyone was right and they should ease up- get some space- take a breather.

Harry hadn't shouted. He hadn't even argued. He'd instead gone mute. He'd never been in love before Lou. Never had a best mate like Lou either. And it simply had never made sense to Harry that he shouldn't spend absolutely as much time with Lou as he could. So that day, when Louis had stood before him in his cuffed trousers and suspenders and sounded all grown up and mature and suggested they start at least sleeping apart, all Harry could do was think that Lou was tired of him. And it had broken his heart. He'd turned on his heel and walked away from Louis because he had no idea what else to do. And because looking at a Louis who didn't want him around had nearly killed him.

Of course, back then, Louis had come running after him, swooped him into a bone crushing hug, taken it all back and begged his forgiveness while kissing Harry senseless.

There was no chance of that happening now.

Harry stared at Louis, those blue eyes he loved so very much were squeezed shut in anger or frustration or sadness.

"You're telling me," Lou finally spoke between gritted teeth, "That you cheated on me, after ten fucking years of being together... working together... living together... sleeping together... doing almost absolutely every-fucking thing under the sun together... because you felt lonely and unloved?"

Harry buried his face in his hands. Lou was seething, his tone mocking. Ten years they'd been together. Ten wonderful, complicated, fantastic years. And never once, had either of them strayed. Not once. Until now. "No," Harry mumbled through his hands and his tears. "No, it happened because I was so drunk and so high that I wasn't myself. Really. I barely remember anything from that night."

Harry felt the weight on the couch shift, and looked up to see that Lou had turned to him, dark blue eyes peering at him.  
"Are you saying... did... did whoever it was... did they assault you? It happened without your consent?" Louis asked with a shaky voice. 

And fuck, Harry almost wished he could say yes. Really, because of the glimmer of concern in Louis' eyes. Concern that Lou always seemed to have for Harry. That concern that always meant love. But Harry couldn't. He didn't remember much, but he did remember flirting. He did remember letting things happen. In flashes, and in bits, and with a huge gaping hole between a few kisses to his neck and a wandering hand all the way to realizing that another man's mouth was on his dick. 

Harry bit his lip, knowing he shouldn't be looking in Louis' eyes when he set things straight. He really didn't want to see that glimmer of concern disappear and be replaced again with the emptiness that had been there for the past few hours. But he couldn't look away. He owed Louis that much. He owed Louis everything. He shook his head. "I let things get too far, Lou," Harry croaked out, tears falling freely down his cheeks as he spoke, "I was flirting to stroke my own ego. And I let things get too far because I was high and drunk."

Watching the glimmer die behind Louis' beautiful blue eyes was just as wretched a sight as Harry had known it would be. Once it was gone, Louis quickly looked away again.

"Fuck you, Harry," Louis whispered before launching off the couch and storming down the hallway, slamming their bedroom door after him so hard that the painting they'd picked up in Belize fell to the hallway floor. 

Harry indulged in a good cry for several minutes, burying his face in his arms as he remained on the couch and tried desperately not to think about that night and what he'd done. Instead, he thought of all the times Louis had been mad at him over the years. There had been several, after all. Louis had been mad when Harry got his first beard, and nearly every beard thereafter. Louis had been mad when Harry had wanted out of the band. Louis had been mad when Harry flirted a little too much - every single time, honestly. But Louis had never said "Fuck you" to Harry before. Never.

Of course, Harry had never had sex with anyone except Louis until now, either. So really, Harry deserved a mountain load of "fuck you's" from Louis. He deserved, actually, for Louis to leave him and never look back.

With that reality too heavy and too real to deal with, Harry stood and walked over to the fallen artwork. He'd picked it out. Harry had picked out all of their artwork, actually. Louis never really seemed to care much about what hung on their walls. Louis cared about the taste of his tea and the texture of his mash, the softness of their sheets and the nubbiness of their towels... but he had always let Harry worry about things like the colors of the the throw pillows and the design of their dinner plates. 

Harry ran to the kitchen sink just in time to vomit in it. Why, after a month apart, Louis telling him he didn't want to love him anymore and nearly walking out the door, did the thought of Louis saying "Fuck you" and not caring about that piece of artwork make him finally need to throw up?

Harry ran water down the sink and turned the disposal on for good measure. Then he poured a bit of bleach in the basin before he walked solemnly to the hall bath to rinse his mouth out and brush his teeth. For the second night in a row, in what he knew could be hundreds, Harry got ready for bed in the guest bath. He hadn't ever gone to retrieve his overnight bag from the car. He hadn't called his mother back. He needed sleep, since it had been almost 48 hours since he'd last dozed. But... Louis was sleeping in their bed... alone. And Harry just wanted to go in there and curl up beside him.

Instead, dejected and heart-heavy, Harry made his way to the couch again. Yes, they had a guest room. And yes, it promised a better night's sleep than their couch, but Harry didn't deserve a good night's sleep. What he did deserve was Louis running out on him while he slept. As long as there was a chance of that, Harry would sleep on their couch.


	2. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has let Harry stay. Harry tries.

Harry didn't sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Maybe half an hour at most, before the sun was rising and washing their kitchen in morning light. He rubbed his eyes, bloodshot and aching from exhaustion, as he sat up on the couch. He was still young, but two nights on their couch had his back aching. But that was o.k. It oddly made him feel alive and awake. And, dramatic asshole he knew he was, he felt he deserved it. Louis would never kick his ass, as he should, so the couch could do it for him. 

Harry heard the quiet creak of their bedroom door and was startled. He glanced at the clock. It was barely 6 a.m. Louis was never awake before 8 unless he had to be. Self-conscious of being caught barely awake himself, Harry ran a nervous hand through his greasy hair and watched Louis creep quietly into their living room, fully dressed with a jacket on. He had his hand in the key bowl, obviously trying to be as quiet as possible, when he noticed Harry sitting up on the couch and watching him. 

They both froze, staring silently at each other, Louis' blue eyes wide and a little guilt-stricken. Finally, Harry had to ask. 

"Where you going, Lou?" And his voice was raspy and awful, sounding constricted and sick, probably from vomiting the night before and crying for five weeks straight. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Where are you going?"

Louis' shoulders fell for just a moment as he looked at his feet. But a few seconds later, he straightened up, clearly strengthening his resolve. "Just a drive," he said with fake confidence, looking somewhere over Harry's right shoulder. 

Harry coughed again and stood up, his jeans rubbing funny on his bum. He'd been wearing them for three days now. "Can I drive you?" And he rubbed one lagging eyelid as it drooped, wondering if Louis would actually let him. He doubted it.

But Lou was already shaking his head. He looked nearly as tired as Harry felt. "No. Need to be alone. Think."

Harry didn't want to agree to it, but he also didn't want to disagree. Whatever Louis needed, Harry wanted to give it to him. But Louis leaving again wasn't really going to solve anything, was it? 

"Lou, can we talk?" He asked, his voice raspy again and sad. He didn't care. "I think we need to talk about it all."

Louis' head raised sharply and for a moment, his piercing eyes met Harry's, venom there. And Harry felt as though he'd been struck. But a second later, he looked away again, now picking up the keys quickly and staring hard at their front door.

"We've talked. And it hasn't changed anything." Louis said, his voice dripping with anger. 

Harry nodded. "We have to keep at it. The more we talk, the more we can work through it." He knew he was right. As long as Louis was talking to him, it wasn't over. 

But Louis' laughed bitterly. "Work through it? Why should I?" And he whipped his eyes over to Harry again, glaring at him. "I didn't do anything wrong. Why should I have to work at this? You said stay, don't throw you out, and so that's what I've done. You said you'd do everything else, right?" 

Harry was nodding again, taking a few tentative steps toward Louis, his hands wringing each other. "I will. Yeah. I will, Lou. I swear. But you keep leaving. That's not staying."

Louis kept glaring at Harry, his anger clearly growing, his eyes narrowing. Harry could almost see his brain working to figure out what to say next. And this was good. They were talking. That's what they needed to be doing. 

"What would you have done, Hazza?" Louis asked quietly, and it would have sounded soft if Harry didn't know Louis better than anyone on the planet. Instead it sounded painful and taunting and hollow.

Harry shook his head, not fully understanding, he hoped, but fairly sure he understood all too well. "What would I have done? About..." But he didn't get to finish the question before Louis was glaring at him again. 

"Yeah. If I'd fucked someone else, and run to you crying, begging forgiveness, what would you have done?"

And Harry should have been expecting it, really. Why wouldn't he ask this? Still, it hit Harry hard and right in the gut. Because it wasn't as though he hadn't thought of it. He had. Most definitely. And he knew that between the two of them, Louis was the more likely to forgive. The more likely to have the heart to get past it. 

"Died." Harry said, tears already streaming down his cheeks, his fingers now pinching his forearms in punishment. "I'd have fucking died, Lou." They both knew it to be true. Harry had a heart like a fragile balloon - big and light and easily damaged. Louis had been so careful with that balloon for so long. It's why Harry was still as open and as optimistic as he was, and Harry knew it. He fucking knew it.

He stared at Louis, who'd lowered his head at Harry's words, and felt the tears just pouring down his face. He'd not been as careful with Louis' heart, and he knew it. Louis who had a heart so big and so full of so many people, but who still had always left the biggest part of it for Harry. 

"I know you would," Louis finally said, his voice cracking as he spoke. 

And Harry nearly lunged at Louis as he realized Lou was crying again. Fuck life and everything. Harry wasn't going to be able to survive this. Not when he made Louis cry and cry and cry like this. 

Louis sniffed and rubbed the hand not holding his keys over his face. "You couldn't handle it. You'd never forgive me." 

Harry could hear the bitterness in Louis' tone. Harry had never really doubted Louis' love or his fidelity. He was steadfast and sure in a way that Harry had admired and clung to, from day one. Louis was anything but changeable, anything but dishonest. He was everything Harry could have ever wanted in a partner. In a soul mate. And what made it all the more amazing was Lou had just done it all naturally. It was just who he was. And Harry knew, without a doubt, Louis would have gone on being just as honest and just as true even without Harry. 

Without Harry. But there couldn't be a Louis without a Harry. Could there? He couldn't imagine it. He was certain of one thing, however, and that was the simple truth that there could be no Harry without Louis. 

Harry's mouth was already open and he was sobbing between his next words. "I think I would, Lou. I know that sounds weak and self-serving right now, but I think I would. You're my everything. I think I'd struggle..." and his voice cracked over the next sentence, but he muddled through. "Knowing... thinking about you... and... someone else." Harry's eyes crashed closed involuntarily at the very thought. He took a ragged breath before continuing. "I think it would nearly kill me in every sense of the word. But... You're my life, Lou. And... I don't want to live without you."

Louis had been silent through Harry's little speech, the only emotion he showed through his hand, slowly clasping and unclasping the keys in it. But when Harry was done, and he took in a huge, gulping breath, trying to stop blubbering, Louis' blue eyes, now dry, gazed up at Harry from far away. Much farther than the few feet that separated them. 

"You done? You say shit like that, Hazza. You say it, but you didn't really stand by that, did you? "

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Louis didn't let him, talking right over him. 

"Cause it's not you that's dying, is it? It's not you that lays awake night after night knowing that I've touched someone else. Let him touch me. Kissed him. Let him taste me. Let him see me. Let him see my face when I came..."

Harry gasped and lurched at the words. "I didn't! I swear, Lou! He didn't see that! I stopped it!"

Louis bared his teeth as he grimaced, his words dark and biting as he spoke, raising half an octave. "Why would I believe that?"

But Harry was way ahead of him. "Why would I lie about that, Lou?" He ran his hands through his hair again, pleading. "I came straight home and I told you. You saw me! I was a fucking mess. Why would I even tell you it happened if I was going to lie about part of it? Huh? Why not lie about the whole goddamn thing? Why even tell you?"

But Harry's words had done something to Louis, and Harry instantly knew he'd made a mistake. Louis didn't get mad, really mad, at Harry, ever. Ever. Not like he'd seen Louis get mad at others. But those days were apparently over. Louis' spine snapped and his eyes flew wide. A half second later, he threw his keys at their front door and kicked the table next to him with every ounce of footie strength he had in his strong legs. 

"Why the fuck did you, Hazza?" Lou screamed at Harry, the table leg cracking where Louis had kicked it. The table top jolted as much as Harry did and the bowl that still held Harry's keys slid to the floor with a crash. Louis didn't even flinch as he grabbed his jacket by the shoulders with both small hands and yanked down on it in anger, eyes blazing as they shot white hot bolts of hatred at Harry. "Why the fuck tell me it happened? Why didn't' you fucking lie to me? Pretend! Let me go on living like before, huh? In a world where some fucking loser hadn't sucked your cock?"

Harry was shocked and scared and he couldn't help but back up a few steps away from Louis. Not that Louis had made a move toward him, no. Louis would never do that. But... he couldn't possibly mean what he was saying. 

Harry tried to gather himself, aware that Louis was waiting for some kind of answer. He shook his head, his voice quivering. "I couldn't do that, Lou. I couldn't live with myself."

Louis was in a full on rage, now, and Harry had seen it a couple of times before. Years ago. And it had always been a bit scary. It was scarier now, though, because it wasn't some wanker Pap on the street causing it. This time, for the first time, Harry was the cause. 

"Fuck you, Harry! Fuck you!!" Louis screamed, his face beet red and his eyes bulging. "Everything is always about you! You did this because you felt lonely. You did it because you needed your ego stroked. You told me because you had to. Now you're still here because you can't live without me. When is it ever going to be about me?"

Harry drew in a sharp breath. Louis' words were daggers. Daggers. But... but he wasn't wrong. Except. Except...

"It is about you, Lou!" He cried, hands reaching out as he stumbled, almost blindly, toward the love of his life. 

Louis darted away, rushing past Harry to stand by the couch. They'd changed places in seconds. Harry turned slowly, so broken, back to Lou. But he wasn't giving up. He would never. Never. 

Harry took a deep breath and stared at Louis, hoping he'd hear the truth in his words. "It is always about you. I love you. So fucking much, Lou. I was lonely for you. I was feeling empty without you. I had to come and tell you because you deserve better..."

Louis laughed, his cackle dry and humorless. "Deserve? Deserve?" And he sounded a little crazy as he flung his arms out wide, cocky and angry at the same time as he stared at Harry incredulously. "Do I deserve this? All of this, Hazza? Did I deserve to be cheated on?"

Harry shook his head quickly, eyes wide. "No. No! Of course not! No, baby, no..." And he was stumbling toward Louis again, desperate to hold him. 

But Louis' eyes narrowed into daggers again. "Don't fucking call me that, Harry." He grunted, his voice low and full of menace. 

It was enough to freeze Harry to the spot. Hate. Hatred. Finally. It's what he deserved from Louis. And now he really had it. And now Harry would truly die. He wrapped his empty arms around himself, biting his lower lip and staring at the floor. He couldn't look at Louis' hateful eyes. He just couldn't. "You don't deserve this." He said, his voice low and honestly, Harry wasn't sure how he was still standing. Living. Breathing. But he would. He would keep on doing it all for Louis. He would not give up. "You deserve much much better than this. Than me."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Louis cried, turning his back to Harry and throwing his arms wide again. "Here we go! It's the fucking Harry Styles pity party. Everyone's invited!" 

And Harry was crying softly now, watching Louis turn mocking eyes to him. 

"Line up, everyone!" Louis continued, his voice shouting again. "It'll be a grand show. No one cries as beautifully as fucking Harry Styles, just ask his mama, who's always there to pick up the pieces for him!" Louis was grinning maniacally, baring his teeth, his eyes almost soulless as they gazed at Harry. "Front row seats if you hurry, all it will cost you is his cock in your mouth and every last ounce of love you have to give!"

Harry sobbed, gasping for air, and fell to his knees, banging them hard on their hardwood floor as he buried his wet face in his hands. Why wasn't he dead? Why didn't his heart just give up and stop beating? Louis didn't love him anymore, maybe. Louis hated him. How was he still alive?

Louis had gone quiet as Harry knelt there and sobbed. Harry had to open his eyes. What if Louis had run out? 

But he hadn't. Harry could see that now Louis was sagging, deflated, as he slumped into their couch. He wrapped his arms around his stomach just as Harry had done. And Harry could see that Louis' face had fallen, too, and the tears that fell from those beautiful blue eyes weren't stopping. 

"Lou," Harry sobbed, begged, and he crawled over to him, cautiously wrapping his arms around his boy. His only boy.

Lou didn't stiffen. He was limp. Lifeless. And it made Harry cling to him even harder. They cried like that for who knows how long, Louis' hands finally wrapping slowly around Harry's waist as Harry whispered dozens of times, "I'm sorry" and "So sorry."

After awhile, Louis voice, raw and empty sounding, finally spoke. "I don't know if I can do this, Hazza." And he sniffled against Harry's shoulder. "This isn't me. It isn't you."

Harry was sobbing silently but nodded back in reply. "I know. It isn't us at all." Then he kissed Louis on the ear, his face wetting the brown hair that rested there. "But it will be again. I swear, Lou. I swear to you."

Louis said nothing but took a deep breath instead. Then another. 

Harry hugged him harder, pressing another kiss to Louis' temple. His heart hurt. It ached. But he was holding Louis again, and that's all that mattered. 

"Should I do it, too, H?" Louis finally asked, still gasping for air, his hands fisting into Harry's t-shirt. "Should I go find someone to be with? Stick my dick in their mouth? See if it helps?"

And Harry squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into Louis' shoulder, trying to block out the words... the image that Louis had forced into his aching brain. Maybe it was said to hurt Harry. Maybe it was an honest question. The answer was the same. "I didn't do it to hurt you," Harry whispered into Louis' shoulder. "I swear to god, Lou. I didn't ever want to hurt you."

Louis shrugged, squeezing Harry's t-shirt even harder, twisting the fabric as he did so. "You did, though. Just the same."

Harry was nodding into Lou's shoulder again, gulping for air as his tears flowed. 

"Maybe I should," Lou continued, his voice soft and airy, as though he were contemplating it. "Maybe if you feel this way, too, you'll finally understand."

Harry whimpered. "I do understand, baby. I do. This is killing me, too."

Most people would probably have punched Harry then. Anyone else would have. But Louis and Harry had always been different. They were always on the same wavelength, knowing how the other felt practically from the first moment they'd met. It had been just as crazy and eerie back then as it had been comforting. 

Instead of punching him though, Louis let go of Harry's t-shirt and leaned back, pulling out of Harry's arms. "Maybe," he said quietly. "Maybe you think you know. Maybe you can even imagine it," Louis said softly, his blue eyes cast down as Harry watched him. "But you won't ever really, will you? Because I can't do that. Not to you. You can do it to me, it seems. But... I can't. And we both know it."

Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back. It was so true. Harry was always the weak one. The one who got scared, who felt jealous, who needed reminding. Not Louis. Never Louis. 

He couldn't really believe what he was about to say. "If you... if you think you need to do that, Lou..." he took a deep breath. "If you think you need to show me how it feels..." Harry tried to catch Louis' eye as he said it. And there... blue looking into green finally. Just inches away as Harry's hands still rested on Louis' hips. "I guess I can't blame you."

Louis stood up so fast that Harry nearly got kneed in the jaw. 

"You're so fucked up," Louis seethed, his blue eyes narrowed and piercing as he stared at Harry as though only just seeing him for the first time. "You're so fucked up!" He shouted, and he didn't even glance back at Harry as he lunged for the keys and slammed out the door, Harry racing to catch him, but failing entirely. Louis was peeling out of their driveway before Harry had even made it down the steps of their porch.

Harry was still sat there, an hour later, in the cold and barefoot, nothing but his tear-soaked tee and jeans between him and the winter air. 

Louis was gone. Harry had no idea if he was ever coming back. 

Another hour passed, and Harry stood, numb. He went back inside, found his own keys on the floor, and walked out to his car, retrieving his overnight bag and the one duffel bag he'd taken with him that night when Louis had thrown him out. He walked back inside, tried his best to prop up the table Louis had broken, and then stepped into a hot shower in the guest bath. He couldn't bring himself to go into their bedroom. He'd not been in there since the night he'd done it. The night he'd confessed it. The night Louis had thrown him out. Harry wasn't in the shower 60 seconds before he was slumped to the shower floor and sobbing like a baby. He'd ruined everything. Everything. 

Harry went back and forth between deciding to call Louis and beg him to come home, or just let him be and have faith that he would. He blocked out any thoughts, as often as they appeared, that Louis might be out there, right now, finding someone to be with to show Harry how it felt. 

Eventually, he got up off the shower floor and washed himself, three days worth of sweat and tears down the drain, and then dressed in some black joggers and a soft gray jumper that had always made him feel better. It did not. 

When he finally stepped out of the bath and looked at his phone, he'd missed two calls from his mum, and one from his sister. When Louis had kicked him out a month ago, Harry had first gone to a hotel rather than stay with a friend or family. Part of that had been wanting to be alone in his own misery; punish himself as much as possible for what he'd done. But part of it had also been the shame of not wanting anyone to know what he'd done. Harry had cheated on Louis. That just wasn't a thing that could be possible. They'd been together since forever, rarely spending a night apart that whole time. No one would believe it. Harry didn't even believe it and he'd done it. 

His mum had found out, however. His mum had found out because he didn't pick up the phone for two straight weeks, and they barely went two days without speaking. When he'd finally answered, it was because she'd sent panicked texts and voicemails, scared to death because Louis, it seemed, had finally picked up and said one thing to her before hanging up: "Ask him."

Harry had cried like he had when he was seven and fell off his bike and the blood had gushed out of his knee like a waterfall. It was that same scary fearful crying that meant things hurt but more than that, he was scared he was dying. 

His mum, as always, had been supportive. As it turned out, she, too, had cheated once. Long ago. She said, sadly, it's pretty common. And that had been the worst. That what Harry had done was common. Because Harry and Louis were anything but. She'd said that if Louis loved Harry as much as she was sure he did, that he'd forgive Harry. And that had been too much. His mom was just sure that Louis did. She was willing to forgive Harry anything. Even breaking Louis' heart. And that had made Harry so angry. How could she forgive him? Harry had raged at her. She loved Louis nearly as much as she loved Harry, didn't she? And yes, she said, she did. But she also knew how much Harry loved Louis. So yes, she could forgive him. And so would Louis, she claimed.

Gemma had been a different story. Harry and Gemma had never been terribly close. They were just so different. Gemma was smart and soft and so capable. Those jokes about Harry being the kid who ate glue had been more true than not. He had always been the weird kid who was just as likely to have his hand down his pants as to be dancing alone in the corner. He'd found an ally in music and, honestly, if he hadn't been pretty, he was sure he'd never have been noticed by anyone except as the weirdo he truly was at heart. 

When Gemma found out what Harry had done, she was anything but sympathetic. She actually cussed at him. Called him a fucking cunt and shoved him. It had felt great. Gemma and Louis had always been a bit alike - getting on like old school chums. Of course, Louis was like that with nearly everyone. But when Gemma had calmed down, she had told Harry something that had been invaluable. Gemma had been cheated on more than once. And, as such, she had some perspective on it. 

"It ruins all trust, Ed," she had told him over their third pint, using the nickname for Harry that she'd been using since they were little. "It doesn't stick to just the fear of you sleeping around again. It makes everything the two of you shared come into question. Your first date? He'll be rethinking it. First time you kissed? Yeah, that, too. First time you had sex? He will literally either not be able to even think about it, or, he'll take it apart piece by piece and examine it, checking it for plot holes."

Harry had shaken his head, eyes wide. "But why? That was years ago... Surely not everything..."

"Everything," Gemma had assured him. "You did that. That's what you did. You took everything the two of you had, every moment you shared, every word you ever said, and you shook it up and made it fake. You made it hollow and groundless. You took everything he thought he knew about you, and about your relationship, and you just toppled it all over. That's what they mean about someone pulling the rug out from under you. It's the foundation. It's the basis of every single piece of love he thought you had for him, and you just broke it all up into pieces."

That revelation had been devastating. But Harry had needed to hear it. He needed to know what he'd done. He needed to understand the damage his actions had caused. And Gemma had given him precious information that just might mean he'd have the tools to rebuild the foundation he'd shattered. 

After making himself a quick sandwich, Harry called his mum back. She wanted to know how it was going. When Louis had finally picked up the phone for one of Harry's hundreds of unanswered calls, and said he should come home so they could talk, Harry had sent off a text to both Gemma and his mum, letting them know. That had been three days ago. 

"Not good," Harry told her, trying not to cry. Honestly, he was so tired of crying. "He hates me."

"I'm sure that's how it seems, love," his mom said kindly. "He's just angry now."

Harry nodded into the phone. "He keeps leaving. In the middle of our talks. He'll just leave. How can we fix it if he keeps leaving?"

"He keeps coming back, doesn't he?" His mum said wisely. "As long as he keeps coming back, that means he loves you.

Harry closed his eyes before asking softly, "What happens if he doesn't?"

He called Gemma back after that. "You fucking said what?!" She shouted at him through the phone after Harry told her he'd given Louis permission to cheat, too. "Why are you so fucking stupid!?"

Harry bit back a soft sob. Not crying. Nope. "He said I'd never understand unless he did it to me!" Harry cried, confused and scared. "I deserve it, don't I?"

"Louis is right. You're such a fucking asshole," Gemma hissed at him over the line. "You don't fucking get it, Ed. You cheated on him. Made him feel like you want someone else. And then you tell him to go find someone else himself? You sure you want to fix this? You sure this isn't your way of trying to end things forever with Louis?"

And Harry was full on sobbing now. He really was the dumbest mother fucker on the planet. "I didn't mean it like that, Gem!" He cried, slumping onto their couch and managing to pull out a few strands of his hair, he was pulling on it so hard. "I never want him to go find someone else, fuck!"

Gemma, thankfully, didn't laugh at him for once. "Jesus Christ, then tell him that, you fucking wanker. He feels unwanted. You just pushed him away further. Go fucking fix it!"

"How?" Harry whimpered, tears already soaking his gray jumper. "I keep fucking it up."

Gemma sighed. "You have to show him how much you want him. How much this wasn't about you not wanting him. Or wanting someone else. Show him it's him, and only him, you want."

Harry was nodding, though he had no clue how to do that. They were married. They lived together. Had for ten years, nearly. Every ounce of Harry's life was interwoven with Louis already...

Harry had an idea. A stupid crazy dumb idea that was at once exhilarating and terrifying. And he was absolutely going to do it. To show Louis that it was just Louis that Harry wanted... now and forever. 

"Ok, Gems. I've got it." He huffed into the phone. "I'm going to fix it."

"I know you are. I absolutely know it," she said. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Harry sighed. And then, as an afterthought... "Have you spoken to Lottie?"

Gemma was quiet for a moment on the line, and then, "No. She... I'm getting the silent treatment."

Harry winced. He was breaking up other relationships, too. "I'll fix it. Promise."

"I know, kid."

Two hours later, Harry had groceries delivered and was cooking dinner for Louis. He'd pulled out all the stops. Candles. Wine. Soft music. Louis' favorite meatball recipe simmering. Harry had tried his best to look presentable, changing into a pair of dark wash jeans from his duffel and the only other jumper he had, which was navy blue. He refused to go into their room... into their closet where the rest of his clothes should be. What if they weren't there anymore? What if Louis had packed them up already? Or thrown them out? Or burned them, a la "How Stella Got Her Groove Back" style?

It was another two hours later when Harry finally blew out the candles and turned off the music, wrapping dinner up and setting it into the fridge. 

Two hours after that, Harry changed out of his jeans and put his joggers back on.

Around two a.m., while Harry was curled up on the couch under the afghan, dozing off between tearful pangs of fear that Louis was never coming home again, and trying desperately not to imagine him with someone else, Harry heard Louis' engine pull into their drive. 

He imagined what Louis was thinking when he saw Harry's car still there. Long minutes passed, and still, Harry didn't hear Louis on the stairs. Would he turn around and leave again? 

Harry didn't sit up. He looked at his phone. It was nearly three a.m. He'd never in his life gone so long without sleep. But he couldn't sleep now. Not without knowing. Knowing. 

Finally, Louis' key turned in the lock. Harry didn't move. He heard, rather than saw, Louis' soft steps on the foyer floor. Heard him put his keys carefully on the broken table. Heard him take a few steps into their home, then pause. Maybe he realized Harry was sleeping on the couch. Maybe he was about to turn around and leave again. 

"I know you're awake," he said flatly into their living room. 

Harry sat up and looked over at Lou. The living room was dark but Harry had left the hall light on for Louis. He couldn't make out Louis' expression, as it was in shadow, the hall light coming from behind him. But he was fairly certain Louis could see him. 

"I... I made you dinner. Meatballs. They're in the fridge." Was all Harry could think to say. 

Louis just seemed to stare at him, unmoving. Then, with a sniff, "Not hungry. Had dinner already."

Harry nodded slowly. Where had Louis been? Where was he going that he was gone so long? If Harry walked over to him now, would he smell liquor? Cigarettes? Someone else's cologne?

"You're wondering if I fucked someone else tonight." Louis stated flatly again, still not moving. 

Harry was rocking back and forth as he sat. It was a soothing mechanism he hadn't used since the X Factor. "No," he said quietly. "I know you didn't." Then he added with more strength, "Know you wouldn't."

Louis shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah? The way I was sure you wouldn't?"

Harry exhaled heavily. So tired. "No. It's different, isn't it? Because I'm the stupid fuck-up between us. And you're the best person I've ever met."

Louis said nothing for a moment. "You wanted me to, though."

Harry scared himself by laughing. "No I fucking didn't." He said without mirth. "No I sure as fucking hell didn't."

Louis took a step toward Harry. His features were still in shadow, but Harry could see his head was cocked slightly as he spoke. "Then why'd you say it? Why'd you give me goddamn permission to do just that?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Because I'm a fucking idiot, Lou. Because I don't think before I speak. Because I thought you were saying you wanted to before we could fix this. I didn't realize..." And Harry took a deep breath before continuing. "I didn't understand that you'd hear it the way you did."

Louis rocked back on his heels, jerking his head back. "How do you think I heard it, then, if you're so fucking dumb?"

Harry brushed a shaking hand through his hair. "Like I want you to find someone else. Like I don't want you. Like I want someone else."

And Harry can tell by Louis body language that he's struck a nerve. Louis falls in on himself a bit, his bravado slipping away. 

"Don't you, though?" Louis asks weakly, his soft voice breathy and high-pitched in that way that Harry knows means he's hurting so bad.

Harry is on his feet and closing the space between them in a second. "No. Absolutely not, Lou. Of course not. Never."

And Lou's head is hanging, his hands still in his pockets.

"How do I believe that, Hazza? How do I ever believe that again?"

And Harry doesn't know. In all the thousands of years that people have been hurting each other, no one seems to have figured out what steps to take to fix the hurt. Hundreds upon hundreds of ways people have invented to hurt each other, and not one has invented a way to fix it. Harry will have to be the first. 

"I don't know, Lou. I don't know. I will figure it out, though. I will work every single fucking day to figure it out until I do." His hands are shaking as he reaches out and touches Louis on the cheek. He no longer knows if it's exhaustion or heartbreak that makes him shake, but he doesn't care. "Here's what I do know. I know I love you. I know you're the only one I've ever loved. I know that I don't ever want to be without you. I know that I don't ever want anyone but you. That has not changed. It was a mistake. A stupid, drunken, drug-laced mistake. I made very very poor choices. I was selfish. I did all of this to you. I still love you. You're my home. My best friend. The only person I ever want to touch or to touch me again. I know that is hard to believe right now. I know that. But I will prove it to you. I will prove it and prove it and prove it. Over and over again until this is all just a dumb, vague memory."

Louis says nothing for a very long time. And getting the message, Harry dropped his hand from Louis' face. 

"You let someone else put their mouth on your dick." Louis finally says, voice soft but flat and tone matter-of-fact.

Harry takes a careful breath before saying, "I did."

"You swore... you promised that you would never ever do something like that." And though Louis' tone is still matter-of-fact, his voice wobbles a bit. 

Harry wishes he could see Louis' eyes. "I did. I'm sorry."

Louis seems to take a shaky breath. "I honestly believed you."

Harry swallows heavily. "I know. I meant it."

Louis seems to crumble a bit more. "You'll do it again," he says, his voice almost a whisper.

Harry's voice cracks. "No. I won't. Ever."

Louis finally looks up at Harry, and Harry can just make out the tear-tracks on Louis' cheeks. "I don't believe you anymore."

Harry winces. "I know. I know that. I will make you. I swear."

Louis looks down again. Shuffles a bit. "I can't..." he takes in a shaky breath. "I can't be with you."

And Harry was expecting that, really. Of course, it doesn't make it any easier to hear. "I know that, too. I will fix it. I promise you, Lou."

Louis takes a deep breath. "What if you can't?"

And Harry doesn't know. He doesn't. But he just has to. "I will."

They stand there, facing each other, Harry staring down at the top of Louis' head, as Louis stares at their feet, for quite awhile, until Louis finally says. "I need to go to bed."

Harry just nods, though Louis doesn't look up to see it. Instead, Harry watches as Louis shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it on their coat tree by the door. Then Louis turns and heads toward their bedroom. Harry watches until Louis gets right to their bedroom door, and is surprised to see Louis turn around and look at Harry. He's even more shocked by what happens next. 

"Sleep with me?" Louis asks softly. 

And Harry is fairly sure he didn't hear right. His mouth gapes. But Louis is looking at him so timidly, so fragile, as though he's scared Harry will decline. Not in a million years. 

Harry nods because he's incapable of speech and stumbles over his own feet trying to get them to work properly as he follows Louis into their room. He's not prepared for the sight. 

Harry is, undoubtedly the more aesthetic of the pair. He's picked out most of the things in their home besides Louis' clothes and their video game selection. That includes their bedroom, from their silver, faux leather headboard on their California King bed down to the brand of lube that sits in both their bedside table drawers. Louis has always been content to let Harry dictate most of their collective choices. But apparently with Harry gone for a month, Louis had time to take out some of his feelings on the things Harry had chosen. The headboard was the same as always, but everything else in their room was a catastrophe. Tissue box cover? Tossed into their closet mirror, the crack spider-webbing over the glass completely, making Harry a fractured mess of reflections. Soft eggshell blackout curtains over their balcony French doors? Torn almost completely off the curtain rod. Photographs of the two of them throughout the years? Piled face down in the corner under one of Louis' footballs, apparently where he'd been kicking it around to knock over their trash can. And clothes everywhere - some obviously Louis' discarded after wearing, but others clearly Harry's. It was unclear whether Louis had thrown them around after wearing them himself, or simply gone into their shared closet and pulled out some of Harry's things to toss around in anger. 

Harry took it all in in the blink of an eye, but said nothing as Louis flipped on the lamp on his side of the bed, the one on Harry's toppled brokenly to their bedroom floor, and shimmied out of his jeans. He didn't bother even glancing back at Harry before crawling into their bed and yanking the unmade covers over himself, his back to the door. And to Harry.

Harry swallowed and wanted to cry, overwhelmed by it all, but didn't. Instead he shut off the main light, climbed into his side of the bed, carefully nudging his broken lamp out of the way so he was less likely to cut his foot on it should he need the loo in the middle of the night, and carefully leaned over Lou to shut off his lamp, avoiding touching him should he change his mind. 

With the light out, Harry laid back, facing Louis, but uncovered. On purpose, Louis was hogging them all. It was just as well, Harry felt, because the sheets and blankets and pillows all kind of stank. And he remembered Lou had told him already that he couldn't bring himself to wash them.

He did cry then. Silent and just a little, while staring at Louis' back, until he eventually fell asleep.


	3. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries to redo a first.

Harry awoke to full sunlight shining brightly in his eyes. He blinked several times before he remembered the drapes were torn nearly completely down. He knew even before rolling over that he was alone in bed. 

He sat up and glanced at the clock on Louis' side. It was almost noon. His stomach plummeted. He'd slept for at least nine hours. There was no telling how far Louis had gone in that time. Harry was lurching up, calling for Lou before his feet had even hit the floor. 

He crashed into their master bath, barely noting it was at least as big a wreck as their bedroom, Harry's various hair products apparently had exploded over every wall, then down the hall. He called for Louis at least six times total, checking their guest room, the hall bath, the kitchen and living room, even going out onto the deck, his heart hammering harder, his voice more desperate each time he came up empty. Finally, Harry had to check their drive. If Louis' car was gone, well then...

But as Harry yanked on the front door, he noticed his phone on their coffee table, a big pink sticky note stuck to it.  
He fell over his own feet as he grappled for it, landing half on the couch and half on the floor, hitting his shoulder hard on the arm of their couch as he finally reached it. 

Wincing and rubbing his shoulder with one hand, Harry read the note Louis had left for him. 

Gone to the studio with Li. On the books for weeks, remember? Be back later

And Harry had a full-on panic attack. His vision went blurry, he couldn't breath properly, and his head spun. Fear and relief and grief and sadness and happiness all swirled together in his weak little brain and he succumbed, holding the post-it to his chest as he laid down on the couch, trying to focus on the most important thing at the moment. Louis would be back later. 

Once he'd managed to get a hold of himself, Harry decided to make the best use of the time. He stripped their bed of month-old bedclothes and started them washing. He pulled an industrial sized trash bag from their pantry, the kind they kept for when they had parties, and went about their bathroom tossing out all of the broken and empty containers of Harry's hair and body products. Then, with a quick once over the broken lamp, he added it to the bag as well. Then Harry went about cleaning off the dried bits of hair and body product on the bathroom walls, counter, floor, and even toilet. If he didn't absolutely know better, he'd almost have suspected a child had had the time of their life splashing all of it around like a big art gallery pop art painting. Instead, Harry had to bite his lip to keep from crying at the image it brought up of a torn-apart Louis, heartbroken and murderous, going absolutely bonkers on all of the things that were Harry's.

After that was done, and after giving their bathroom a good cleaning it desperately needed, Harry took a long shower in his bathroom, the first in a month. He had no products left, so for the first time in years, he had to share Louis'. He found he didn't mind at all. The only thing that worried him was knowing he'd smell like Louis, and not like Harry, a scent Louis had missed. So still wrapped in a bath towel, Harry ordered a bunch of his products online from his phone, and paid for the same day shipping. It was Thursday. They would be delivered Friday. That would have to do. 

Still with the bath towel around his waist, Harry realized he had no clean clothes in his duffel, and he'd have to go into their closet for more clothes. His stomach knotted. Sure, he knew Louis hadn't thrown out or burned all his clothes, since some of them were currently strewn about their bedroom floor. But Harry hadn't had the courage to check the damage to their closet yet. To his precious wardrobe. If Louis had really wanted to jab Harry, his carefully selected clothing would have been the way to do it. But Harry steeled himself. They were just clothes. And whatever Louis had done, Louis had every single right to do. 

Carefully setting his phone on his now otherwise empty night stand, Harry opened the door to their shared closet. 

It wasn't what he was expecting. His clothes weren't ripped to shreds on the closet floor. His clothes weren't conspicuously missing, having been donated or drowned or set fire to in some big bonfire in their backyard. His clothes were untouched, save for the drawer of his old tees and a couple of pairs of joggers he was pretty sure he'd seen the evidence of all over the floor of their bedroom. No, Louis hadn't taken his revenge on Harry's unsuspecting wardrobe. But Louis had done something to their closet. In the corner, laying flat on the closet carpet under the left side, which was supposed to be Harry's, but really most of the closet was Harry's, was a sleeping bag. And a pillow. And a stuffed bear that had been Harry's since he was seven. And two of Harry's jumpers. And a photograph. Of Louis and of Harry. On their wedding day. 

Louis had obviously been sleeping there, curled up under Harry's clothes, clutching Harry's bear and probably wearing Harry's clothes, and most likely with that photo under his cheek or in his hand as he cried himself to sleep. 

Harry backed slowly out of the closet, knowing he'd seen something he wasn't meant to see, and shut the door. He rummaged quickly through the discarded clothes that were his on the floor until he found a decent smelling pair of his sweats and a not totally stiff or stinky hoodie. Who needed pants? Harry wasn't the type. 

Once dressed, he gathered up all of the dirty clothes in the hamper and wheeled it to the laundry room, already dialing his phone with his free hand. It was time to call in a few favors. 

Louis was home by dinnertime, much to Harry's relief. By then, Harry had washed all their collective dirty clothes and remade their bed with clean and fresh-smelling sheets. He'd even had time to get dressed in his now-clean dark skinnies and his favorite gray jumper again. Not only that, he'd had time to make plans for their evening. 

Louis came through their front door warily, though, he looked a bit better rested than he had since this whole mess had started. When he found Harry waiting inside, his coat in one hand, keys in the other, he stopped short. 

Harry smiled at Louis. Somehow, he managed to smile. 

Louis frowned in reply. "Are you leaving?" His voice cracked.

And fuck, Harry had never expected that. "No!" Harry half-shouted, desperate to get that look of fear and doubt out of Louis' eyes. "No, I'm not leaving. I'm... I made dinner plans for us." He added hopefully. 

Louis' frown deepened. "I've been gone all day, H. I'm tired. I don't want to go out to fucking dinner." And he started shrugging out of his coat.

Harry stepped quickly forward, waving his hand out in front of Louis to get him to stop. "No. No I know, Lou. It's not like that. This is... it's... a surprise." And he tries to smile again, reassuringly, pleadingly, but he's pretty sure he just looks and sounds desperate. And well, he is. 

Louis eyed him carefully. "A surprise?" He asked, hesitant. 

Harry's smile widens a bit. Louis fucking loves surprises. "Yeah," Harry nods, his head wagging like a dogs tail. This needs to happen. It has to work. 

Louis closes his eyes wearily. "I'm... tired, H. Maybe another night?"

And Harry had worried this would happen. And he can't even pout. Louis owes him nothing. His shoulders fall and he is nodding even as he goes to set his keys back down and hang up his coat. "Yeah. Sure," he manages to reply, hoping it doesn't sound as pathetic out loud as it does in his mind. 

But it must, because Louis looks at him. And is still looking at him when Harry glances his way. Louis is studying him, now. And Harry is reddening. 

"All right," Louis gives in resignedly, zipping up his coat once more. "Let's go." And he jerks his head toward their front door. 

Harry's eyes widen. He wasn't expecting that. He doesn't deserve it. So the grin on his face as he grabs his coat once more and shrugs it on, is genuine. He reaches for his keys and pulls his phone out of his pocket, typing out a quick message and then looking fully at Louis. "Thank you," Harry says quietly, so grateful that Louis is willing. That Louis is still here at all. 

Louis says nothing but heads toward their front door, so Harry has to rush to get the door for him. When he holds it open and attempts to usher Louis out it, Louis just rolls his eyes. But Harry doesn't mind. This is good. This is going to be good. 

They walk in silence down their front stairs. The early winter night air is cold but not biting. Just as Louis is heading for Harry's Range Rover, a sleek, black limousine pulls into their driveway. 

Louis glances back at Harry, frowning and skeptical. "Fuck is this?" He asks, his brown fringe blowing in his baby blue eyes. 

Harry blushes but manages to shrug in reply just as the limo driver steps out, dressed to the hilt, even with the shiny black driver's cap. 

"Good evening Mr. Tomlinson," the driver says to Louis as he opens the car door for Louis. "Mr. Tomlinson," he adds, nodding to Harry. 

Louis is full on staring at Harry now, and Harry knows what he's thinking. Harry ordered a limo. Harry ordered a limo under his married name. Harry had big plans for the night. And Harry holds his breath because right now is when it could all go to shit, depending on whether Louis is willing to put up with Harry's shenanigans. 

Louis is still staring at Harry. The driver is still standing there, holding the door open for him. And Harry is scared shitless that Louis is about to read him the riot act in front of a random hired driver. 

Instead, Louis turns to the driver and says a simple, "Thank you," before stepping into the car and sliding to the far side. 

Harry tries not to jump for joy. Instead, he grins at the driver and slides in beside Louis. Of course, Louis then chooses to sit as far up against the other side that his cheek might as well be pressed to the glass of the door. But that's ok. Harry doesn't mind. He settles in, carefully not man-spreading as to invade Louis' space, as the driver gets in and starts the car. They have a bit of a drive in store, though Louis is presently oblivious of that, so Harry decides to make small-talk. 

"How was your day?" He tries, smiling warmly at Louis, who is turned away from him and. staring out the limo window. Harry's undaunted. "Good day in the studio?"

Louis says nothing for a few long seconds, not moving. Until finally, he nods minutely. "Fine." Is all he says. 

Harry nods in response, though Louis can't see it. "Any good breakthroughs?" He knows Liam and Louis are great co-writers, but he also knows that a month ago, before this whole nightmare, they had been in a bit of a writing slump.

Louis shrugs. And Harry thinks that's all he'll get out of Louis until he adds cryptically, "You could say that."

Harry has a feeling he doesn't fully want to know what that was supposed to mean. He changes tactics. "How was Li?"

And Harry can just see enough of Louis' profile through the passing car lights to see a bit of a smirk on his lips. "He's pretty sure he doesn't want to tour with you ever again," Louis replies. 

And Harry is not really surprised by that. Liam and Louis are brothers, really, in a way that Liam and Harry never were. Liam and Louis have similar goals, similar skills, even similar personalities in many ways, though it took both of them long enough to realize that. They have always turned to one another to make tough decisions in tough times, the one seeking the strength of the other. And Harry hasn't been jealous of that in many, many years. And really, Harry is so, so glad that Louis has such steadfast and loyal friends. He deserves that. But it still hurts Harry a bit, though he knows it shouldn't. So he only nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. 

They've only gone a few miles, barely been in the car ten minutes, but Harry feels like the air between them is thick and suffocating like a blanket. He reaches forward to the limo ice box, remembering his order, hoping they got it right, and grins when he finds two bottles of champagne and two glasses chilled and waiting for them.

He sits back with the glasses in one hand, a bottle of champagne in the other, and can feel his cheeks burn from Louis gaze. 

"What. Is. That?" Louis asks coldly. 

Harry freezes. It's so tough to hear Louis talk to him like this. Like he used to talk to Liam in the early days. Like he talked to Zayn the last time they spoke. Like he talks to Simon. 

Harry shrugs but doesn't look at Louis, choosing instead to try to keep his nerves. "It's champagne." And he balances the glasses between his knees and pops the cork. "Remember the first time we ever rode in a limo?" He asks innocently, trying to carefully pour the champagne into the two wine glasses without spilling. 

Louis says nothing, but Harry can feel those blue eyes on him. 

"Remember? It picked us up from Robin's house? We'd been having a weeks-long sleep over after the band was put together. And the X-factor limo came to get us to take us to boot camp." Harry has somehow filled both glasses without getting a drop on his jeans. He sets the open bottle down in the cup holder to his left and then carefully pulls the half-full glasses out from between his legs. 

He looks up at Louis as he holds a glass out to him. 

Louis is watching him like a hawk, his angular face drawn in icy anger, his lips pressed together as he is clearly holding back from saying something.

Harry swallows but doesn't back down, still holding the glass out to Lou. "Z and Ni had never had champagne before, remember?" He continues, pretending the expression on Louis' face doesn't make him want to fling himself out the door of the moving limo and onto the pavement to his death. He tries to laugh a little, instead. "Remember how we had that contest?" And Harry almost could smile at the memory. He'd laughed until he'd almost wet his pants when Louis downed the champagne and won the belching contest Niall had started, all while Zayn had giggled and Liam had looked disgusted. 

Louis is still eyeing Harry, but finally, finally, reaches out and takes the offered champagne glass. And Harry can't help but wince at how carefully Louis takes it from him, making sure their fingers don't remotely come in contact. 

Louis downs the champagne in one gulp, then hands it back to Harry for a refill. "I remember," he says solemnly. 

Harry rushes to refill Louis' glass. "I thought you were so fucking cool, Lou," Harry says fondly as he hands Louis back his filled glass. 

Louis snorts. "Then you stopped."

And Harry jerks a bit. "No," he affirms. "No, I never did." And then, just to ensure there's no room for argument. "I thought you were pretty fucking cool back then, and I barely knew you," he says, then pauses to take a sip of his own glass before continuing. He swirls the half that's left in the glass and then glances up at Louis, who is still watching him. "I had no idea how cool you really were."

Louis rolls his eyes and downs his second glass while looking out the window.

But Harry continues. "Do you remember what you told me that first night you all stayed over at Robin's with me?"

Louis is still looking out the window. He says nothing. 

Harry is undaunted. "You told me you'd never spent a night away from home before. You told me you always had friends over to your house, because you had to sit for the girls. You told me it felt so weird not being in your own bed."

Louis is looking back at Harry now. "I didn't say that."

Harry laughs a bit. "You did," he corrects, remembering it all so clearly suddenly. A younger Louis. A Louis without stubble. A Louis before he smoked or drank or had anxiety. A Louis innocent and so flamboyant that he'd taken Harry's breath away time and time again. "That's partly why I suggested we all sleep together on the trampoline. You were homesick."

Louis turns quickly away from Harry and stares out the window again. 

Harry is confused, not sure what he said to upset Louis again, but feels slightly better when Louis again holds out his empty glass for another refill. Harry does so obediently, pausing to empty his own glass before refilling them both. He hands Louis back his and makes sure their fingers brush as he does so. 

"You weren't homesick?" He prods after Louis had drank half of his.

Louis takes a deep breath before replying. "I was," he says simply, still not looking at Harry. 

"I remembered that, you know?" Harry says, his voice gruff with emotion at the memory. "I remembered you'd told me that, weeks later, the first week we were at boot camp. I remembered it when I got homesick." Harry reaches out to gently nudge Louis' arm, hoping he'll look over at Harry. He doesn't. Harry sighs and keeps going. "I was so embarrassed to be so homesick when my dream was coming true. I felt dumb and young and just..." Harry brushes a hand through his hair and downs his second glass of champagne. "If you hadn't admitted to me that you were homesick first, back at Robin's, well... I don't know if I'd have had the courage to tell you when I was feeling it, too."

Louis does look over at Harry now, both their glasses empty, a whole bench seat of a limo and one big nightmare mistake between them. Harry looks back at Louis and hopes he can read the sincerity in Harry's eyes. 

"You were so cool to tell me that. You made me feel like it was ok to feel like I did." Harry reaches out and briefly strokes the back of Louis' hand, ignoring the way Louis withdraws from his touch. "That was just the first time you did that, Lou. The first of what would turn out to be millions of times."

And although he did draw away from Harry's touch, Louis has not looked away from him.

So Harry continues. "Do you remember what you said about me, the first time you really ever talked with my mum?" And he didn't even try to alter his tone, couldn't help but get soft at this memory, his eyes watering a bit. It was one of his favorite little secrets.

Louis cocks his head a bit, appearing as though he's trying to recall. "No..." he falters.

And Harry smiles humbly. "S'okay, Lou. She told me what you said."

Louis narrows his eyes slightly at Harry before turning quickly away to look out the car window again. "Probably something about you snoring," he lies. 

Harry lets out a soft chuckle. "Probably that, too," he says fondly. "But also, that you worried about me." And Harry ducks his head at the memory of his mum telling him that when she finally got to see him after boot camp. She was all smiles and hugs and Harry was hugs and tears he was so glad to see her again. But she'd told him she hadn't worried one bit about her baby, because she knew Lou had been taking care of Harry. "She knew then, you know," Harry adds, considering opening the second bottle of champagne already, though he'd somewhat hoped to leave it for the ride home. 

Louis, though still staring out the car window, deigns to ask, "Knew what?"

Harry grins over at Louis profile. "She knew we were in love."

And it's absolutely true, of course. Harry thinks he fell in love with Louis basically at first sight. Louis loves to argue when they talk about over the years; swears he didn't, swears it took Louis chasing him for weeks for Harry to succumb, but Harry knows better. Harry'd played a bit hard to get, maybe, but he'd known. He'd known from day one. 

Harry shrugs and pulls out the second bottle of champagne before continuing. "She knew we were in love the very first time I called her from boot camp," Harry chuckles, struggling much more with the second champagne cork than he did with the first. It's possible he should have eaten a bite before downing two glasses of champagne. He nearly loses his balance as it finally comes off with a loud pop and a bit of champagne bubbles up and onto the carpet of the limo.

"Shit, H," Louis hisses, leaning over to grab the bottle from Harry's now-sticky hands. 

Harry giggles. Yeah, he may be a touch tipsy. "Sorry, babe," he breathes out, holding his glass out and taking Louis' from him to hold it, too, ready for Louis to pour. 

Louis grimaces a bit but obliges, then sets the bottle in the cup holder on his side, this time, before taking his glass back from Harry, their fingers downright sliding against each other.

Louis shakes his head at Harry once, in annoyance, before taking a sip. He seems to contemplate his glass for a moment, then asks carefully, "How could she know that?'

Harry has to smile at that. His plan might be starting to work. He takes his time in looking at Louis with his winning smile before replying. "I guess I told her."

Louis frowns, then rolls his eyes. "You didn't tell your mum you were in love with me the first time you called her from boot camp. We weren't even boyfriends yet," he adds defiantly. 

Harry nods, taking a big drink from his glass, then says. "I told her that I missed her and was homesick, but that I'd told you, and you were making it better. I told her you made me feel better." Harry man-spreads just enough to nudge Louis' knee with his own for a brief second before adding. "You always did. You always do. And that's how she knew."

Louis says nothing but eyes Harry for several more seconds before turning away and finishing his glass. They ride in silence for at least another ten minutes, but they don't drink anymore. And it's ok. Harry feels like they're getting somewhere. And then they do. The limo pulls up to their destination and their driver opens Louis' door just as Louis is realizing where they are. 

"What the fuck?" Louis gasps, realizing they're pulled up right to the side entrance of the X-Factor studio.

Harry climbs out after Louis and then winks at their driver once before heading for the solid gray door in the alley. "C'mon," he calls to Lou once before knocking on the door. 

It opens by a heavily muscled security guard just as Louis is at Harry's side, and Harry leads the way in the mostly dark corridor that they both know so well. Harry says nothing, biting back a grin and prickly with nerves, as the security guard leads them up the metal stairs to the auditorium. 

Harry blinks at the half-lit stage and reaches back to take Louis' hand in sheer habit, only to find Louis five paces behind Harry and frowning harshly. 

Harry's face falls. But it's going to be fine. Lou just doesn't get it yet. But he will. 

"C'mon, Lou," Harry says gently, dropping his hand knowing Louis won't take it, but starting to climb the stairs to the stage. 

And Louis does come on, if warily and obviously begrudgingly.

The guard has left them, and there's a picnic blanket and basket in the center of the stage, just as Harry had carefully planned. Harry is downright beaming when he sits on one side of the picnic basket and stares hopefully up at Louis, motioning that he should sit down and join Harry. 

There's a very long series of moments where Louis appears ready to bolt, and Harry is ready to bolt after him, but finally, amazingly, Louis sits down. He looks around, wide eyed. They're alone in the X-Factor auditorium, alone on the X-Factor stage. 

Louis turns wide eyes back to Harry. "What is this, H?" He breathes.

Harry takes a deep breath, his heart in his throat. "I wanted to have dinner with you here. Where we fell in love."

Louis stares back at him, silent. So much time between them. So many memories. So much to share and laugh about and love through. And now they're here, where they fell in love, and Harry's never felt so far from Louis.

Harry can only stare at Louis' estranged eyes for so long without feeling cold, so he breaks eye contact before he can break into pieces and begins unpacking the dinner he'd ordered. 

"Seriously, H?" Louis chuckles with sarcasm as Harry slowly unveils their dinner. 

Harry grins but won't meet Louis' eyes. He's so fucking mischievous. 

"Is this really the shit they served in the canteen way back when?" Louis chuckles again, this time with a hint of real amusement.

Harry shrugs. "No, it's actually from the Beschi Market on Grille Street, but..." he winks up at Louis, but quickly so as not to catch any hate there, "It's as close as I could do."

They settle down in silence as Louis devours the corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, and chicken nuggets that are reminiscent of most canteen meals. For dessert, there's plain squares of chocolate cake. To drink, they had juice boxes. When the food is mostly gone, Harry leans back on his palms and looks at Louis, who is sucking up the last bit of apple juice from his second juice box. 

"Lou," Harry says, his voice tight. He coughs, embarrassed. He almost sounded like his sixteen year old self. He tries again, "Louis, I want to tell you something."

Louis closes his eyes, seeming to anticipate something like this, and nods. He doesn't look at Harry. He doesn't do anything but sit there with his eyes closed. 

It's not exactly what Harry had hoped for, but it will do. More than. It's fine. He clears his throat. "I told Gemma what I did." Louis seems to stiffen, as Harry watches him carefully, but he says nothing. So Harry continues. "She told me something that scared me, but... I'm so thankful she did."

Louis puts down his juice box and presses his hands into his knees. He's sat applesauce style, and Harry loves how adorable he looks at the moment, even if he won't look Harry in the eye. 

"She told me that what I did made all our good memories... well... bad memories." Harry takes a deep breath, anticipating Louis' eyes on his at any moment. But it's not yet, apparently. 

Louis glances down at Harry's shoes for some reason. 

Harry sits up and notices Louis' eyes move to Harry's knees. Maybe Louis is working his way up to Harry's face. That's fine with Harry. If Louis needs time, Harry has all the time in the world. "I brought you here, in the limo, with the champagne, because I want to make sure you know that what happened," and Harry stops. Grimaces. Corrects himself. "What I did... it doesn't change anything about our past." 

Louis' eyes are maybe at Harry's stomach now, but have gone no higher. 

And God, Harry's never missed looking into someone's eyes before. And it strikes him that it's because he's never had to worry about not being able to gaze into Louis'. Louis has always been there for him. Always. Literally since he was still a kid. 

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. "I fell absolutely head over heels in love with you right here, Lou." And Harry motions around the stage. "Right here in front of the world. You know it's true. The world knew about our love long before we were able to come out." And for the first time, maybe, Harry's actually so grateful for that; that he fell in love with Louis in front the camera. Because it's undeniable fact. It's in print. It's on the worldwide web. It is already down in history. 

Louis's eyes have made it up to Harry's chest. Soon. Very Soon. 

"You were my hero. You were the only thing that kept me going. You kept me safe and sane. You made me laugh. You were my everything. And none of that has changed." Harry holds his breath. It's about to happen.

And sure enough, Harry watches as Louis' blue blue eyes slowly track up to meet Harry's green ones. Louis is solemn. He's sad. But he's listening. He's really listening. 

Harry sits forward and crosses his legs applesauce style, too. "We both know that without you, Lou, I'd be nowhere." 

And Harry has to pause to catch his breath because Louis' gaze is so intense. And it's unwavering. And it's been a while since Louis has looked at Harry for more than a few seconds. And without tears or anger or disgust. Harry's on edge. He's got to get this just right. He wishes he'd thought to script any of this out before hand.

"You were right; I've been selfish," Harry says slowly, closing his eyes for the briefest moment before meeting Louis' again. It's not hard to admit. It's hard to know he was so selfish in the face of so much selflessness from Louis. "Anything I wanted, you gave it to me. I wanted us to be famous, you made sure. I wanted to quit the band, you said all right. I wanted to be in a movie, get involved in photography, fashion... whatever I wanted, you made it happen." Harry stares back at Louis, his heart aching remembering all of the sacrifices Louis made just to make Harry happy. "First I wanted to live in L.A., so we did. Then I got a fancy for New York, so off we go. Back to L.A. Then London... No matter what, you did it. You didn't even argue."

Louis' eyes have gone cloudy suddenly, and Harry worries he's said something wrong again until Louis bows his head and shakes it. "I wanted things, too," Louis says quietly. "I got those things."

But Harry shakes his head. "No, Lou. Not like me. Who was supposed to get the beard? Me. Who argued until they got it? You. Who figured out how to get out of our contracts? That was you. Who always managed to get us where we needed to be, together, under the radar? You." Harry grips his hands together and bows his head. "It was always you, Lou. You taking care of things. Taking care of me."

Louis shrugs, his head still bowed. "I like taking care of you."

And Harry has hope for a moment. Louis likes it. Present tense. Not past. Harry has difficulty swallowing but manages to reply, "I like you taking care of me." 

And it's so true. From the very start, Harry was the baby of the two, and Louis, as the older, more wisened of the pair, took on the role of caregiver. Even when they slept, nine times out of ten, Louis cuddled Harry in his arms. Louis guided Harry. Louis rescued Harry. Louis saved Harry. And Harry loved it. He loved being babied and cared for and kept. But, maybe it was time for some of that to change. 

Harry looks at Louis earnestly and takes a deep breath before saying, "I should have been taking care of you, too, though."

And Louis' shoulders slump just a bit as his only reply. 

Harry can't tell if he's about to argue, or agree, or fight. And for a long time, nothing happens. So they sit there in silence for several minutes, until finally, Louis says only. "Thank you for the surprise. I'm getting tired, though. Could we go home now?"

And Harry is saddened to see that Louis has gone back to avoiding eye contact. But he nods and begins to clear up their dinner a bit. He'll leave it there, the staff will clear it away. But it gives him something to do as he sorts out his muddled brain. 

It's not like he thought this one dinner would fix anything. He's slow, but he's really not that naive. He knows this will be a long and arduous process. Tonight was just the first of many many steps it's going to take to get Louis back. Harry knows that. It doesn't make it hurt any less. 

When there's really nothing more to do and Harry can tell Louis is getting impatient, he stands and leads Louis back off the stage, through the corridor, and out the back. Their driver and limo are there, waiting. Louis slides in first again, and Harry behind. 

They're sitting apart, silent, in the back of the darkened limo for half the drive home, at least, before Louis asks, "Who was he?"

And Harry knows instantly, by the timid and hurt tone of Louis' soft voice, exactly who Louis is asking about. And he's been anticipating this question since the moment the nightmare began.

"Brian," Harry manages, the name thick and painful on his tongue. It brings up gross and disgusting; vile images. Memories. Tastes. Sounds. Feelings. "Dunno his last name." And Harry can't look at Louis now. He knows he should. Knows he must. But he's never been more ashamed. Not even when his mum found their secret sex box that time she stayed over when Harry had pneumonia. 

Louis is as stiff as a statue at the other end of the bench seat. "Had you met him before... that night?" And Louis' voice sounds so weak. So raspy. So hurt.

Harry looks at him. Wonders vaguely yet again how he's still alive when he's hurt his boy so very much. "Yeah. He was at another party once before, I think. One of Harris'." 

Honestly, Harry can barely remember what he looks like, thank goodness. 

Louis is staring at his own hands folded between his knees. He looks so small again. Harry just wants to grab him and pull him into his lap. 

"So you two had... you'd done things? Before?" 

God no. "No, Lou," Harry manages to hiss out, his mind reeling. Louis thinks, still, that Harry had made a habit of this. And it eats at him. "No. No fucking way. It was just exactly like I told you. That one night. That one time. That one... thing."

Thing. That's a very small word to describe such a giant thing that had the capability of ruining so much. 

Louis is biting his lips, his eyes closed. "So you never even... talked to him? Before?"

Before. That's another small word to describe a decade of happiness and togetherness and love. Before. Before the Thing. The thing that ruined all of the before.

Harry rubs his left shoulder with his right hand. He's stiff and sore from days on a couch and only one night in his own bed. It doesn't matter, though. "No, I think he flirted with me... a bit... the first time we met," Harry says with trepidation. But he wants to be one hundred percent honest with Louis. That's the only way to get him to trust Harry again. 

Louis exhales with sarcasm. "A bit? What's a bit for you, Harry? Did he just yank you off the first time you met? Or did you let him come on your face?"

And Louis' words are biting, but Harry knows he deserves them. He chooses to ignore the icy cold that passes over his skin, as though Louis has the magic power to freeze Harry on the spot. And well, he probably does. 

"No. I don't even remember. I think Harris introduced us, I think he complimented me a bit, but that first time, honestly, I didn't even notice him."

Well, that's not entirely true, but Louis has never needed to know who Harry thinks is fit and who he doesn't. Harry's slow, but he's not an idiot.

Louis smirks and shoots daggers at Harry with blazing eyes, somehow, as he so often does, reading Harry's mind. "So basically, you eye-fucked each other that first time you met, so the second time, you decided to give your mouths a chance."

Harry would sigh and fight back if things were different. But they're not. "I admit that he was attractive, and so I let him flirt with me." The words are sludge, taking forever to come out of his mouth. Harry doesn't want to have to let them out at all. But he knows he must. "I flirted back a bit, even, that... the second time we met..."

"A bit," Louis spits, his spine jerking up straight in his anger. "You think sticking your dick in his mouth is you flirting back a bit? Jesus, H. How many others have sucked your cock cause you were flirting back a bit?"

And maybe that's a fair thing for Louis to say just now, but it still stings. Harry turns to face Louis, miles away on the same limo bench seat. "Louis, I swear to you, I have never let anyone else, besides you, do that to me, except that one night, that one night for like a second with... Brian." And jesus it's awful to say that person's name, especially to Louis. He'll forever hate that name. Forever.

Louis turns away coldly, staring once more out the car window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

Harry watches him. Waits. Knows more is coming. 

Finally, without turning to him or changing his posture at all, Louis asks through gritted teeth, "Just so I understand. Just so I have the facts straight... Some attractive wanker named Brian you met only once before at another of Harris' parties, flirted with you and so you let him suck your cock, for exactly one second before you stopped it, because you were sad and lonely, even though I was literally sat at home that night waiting for you. That about right?"

Harry takes a slow and careful breath. He doesn't want to think about that night. Has tried so hard to block it out. But for Louis, he revisits.

He had smoked a lot of weed, had way too much to drink, and had gotten silly and flirty and clingy, like he often did. Harris had been at his side most of the night. But Harris had disappeared for a bit. And Harry remembers Brian dancing with him. He remembers Brian grinning and kissing Harry's cheek. He remembers some grinding as they danced. Then he remembers Brian kissing him on the neck, his tongue in Harry's mouth... His hands on Harry's ass. And then, like a time jump amongst dozens of others, Harry was pressed against the bathroom sink, his fly unzipped, looking down to Brian's blond hair and realized Brian's tongue was on the head of Harry's dick. 

Harry hates himself. "It was a few seconds, Lou. And... also we danced. I let him kiss me. And I know he grabbed my butt."

Louis still hasn't moved an inch. "You let him kiss you. You let him. You didn't kiss him back?"

And that's weird because Harry doesn't remember kissing Brian back. He doesn't remember grabbing at Brian or touching him at all except for the dancing, and Harry had been the little spoon - Brian grinding up behind Harry. 

"I really don't remember doing that." But Harry grimaces, knowing it sounds weak. "But I probably did," he adds quietly. Harry has kissed a lot of people. He's a bit of a kisser, actually; on the cheeks, on the mouth. Just not with tongue. Not full on romantic or hot kissing. Not with anyone but Lou. And yet, he has a distinct memory of Brian's tongue inside his mouth. It's disgusting.

Louis says nothing in reply for so long that Harry just can't leave it like that. He can't let the last thing that's said about this in this conversation be that he probably did kiss Brian back. 

He is still turned to face Louis on the seat, talking to his profile. "Lou, one hundred percent I didn't plan any of it. You and I had been arguing for days. Things were tense. I went to Harris' just to relax and get away for a bit. I don't know Brian. We didn't exchange numbers or anything like that. I don't even know who he is really; what he does; why he and Harris are friends..." And he feels instantly that he's talked too much about Brian. Too much about the person he let get too close. "I got wasted. I was dancing, I remember. Harris disappeared. Then there he was... And from then on in, it's like... flashes. Bits and pieces. No coherent thought. And then... it was just awful."

Louis turns quickly to Harry, his neck almost audibly snapping. "Oh it was awful, was it babe?" Louis hisses, a wicked, hateful smile spreads across his gorgeous mouth. 

Harry closes his eyes just for a moment... willing himself to have the strength to look at Louis when he looks at Harry like this. He deserves it. He opens his eyes. 

Louis' are bright and full of the anger he is seething with. "So sorry for you babe. So sorry that I made life for you so awful that you had to run into the arms of an attractive stranger. So sorry that I made your first blowjob from someone but me so upsetting."

Harry feels his stomach turn over at the pain in Louis' voice. He feels the knife inside Louis twist as the pain rips across his beautiful face, because the knife is in Harry, too. 

"Louis, please," he says weakly. "I know you hate me right now, but..." 

Louis huffs out a laugh as he turns coldly away from Harry to stare out the limo window once more. 

They ride the rest of the way home in silence. When the driver lets them out at their house, Louis fairly runs ahead inside as Harry tips the driver double his fee. The car company is known for its discretion, but if the driver heard any of what took place between them, Harry's career is basically over. And he would deserve that. 

Inside the house again, Harry can hear their shower running even as he removes his coat and sets down his keys. He doesn't know if he's expected to join Louis in their bed tonight or stick to the couch. He's so scared of a misstep, however, that he hesitates to act on either option. If he settles onto the couch, will Louis view it as a rejection? And if he climbs into their bed, will Louis feel affronted? 

He settles onto waiting for Louis in the open doorway of their bedroom. It's a long shower; Louis takes his time. But it gives Harry time to reflect. They've made progress, he thinks. They're definitely talking about it, now. That can only be good, right?

He feels his stomach knot up when he hears the water shut off and Louis steps out a few minutes later in his boxers and a t-shirt. He pauses to glance at Harry before climbing into bed. 

"Well?" He asks when he's tucked himself in and Harry hasn't moved. "Are you coming?"

And Harry barely manages to remove his shoes before he's stumbling toward the bed, shimmying out of his jeans and yanking off his shirt. He's down to his boxer-briefs when he half falls into his side of the bed and Louis shuts out the light. 

Louis turns over, his back to Harry in the dark but it's ok. Harry's sleeping next to Louis for the second night in a row. They just got back from a date. It's good, all things considered. 

Then, so softly in the dark, Louis says only, "I do hate you, you know."

Harry's chest constricts. "I know," he manages to whisper back as his soul seems to flee from his body, leaving him a cold and lifeless shell of who he once was... the love of Louis' life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first three chapters of an at least six chapter fic, but this felt like a good place to pause. This is the first time I’m publishing a fanfic, so hopefully I’ve done so with respect to the fandom that I dearly love. Thank you for reading a little bit of my soul.


	4. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change dramatically, and Harry’s not sure if it’s good or bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning that this is where smut begins to appear (so if it’s not your thing, don’t read) as well as a reminder that I warned you it gets worse before it gets better. Hang in there.

Harry was having a dream. It was warm and wet and he was enjoying it utterly. He could feel the warmth, like an ocean wave on a very hot day, lapping gently, rhythmically, persistently at his body. He felt the beach beneath his buttocks, firm but giving as he rolled his hips to meet the next wave, indulging in the dream. Something brushed his hip bone, ocean flotsam most likely. Harry moaned as the kelp brushed up along his abdomen, brushing just briefly along his left nipple. He moaned, the warm summer sunshine brightening through his closed lids. He heard a replying moan to his own, and suddenly the ocean wave was a presence, forming itself into a man with azure blue eyes rimmed by the longest, blackest of eyelashes.

Harry gasped and raised his head as he blinked into consciousness. This was no dream. Louis' head was just at Harry's bare belly button. Louis' hands were gripping Harry's hip bones, pulling his boxer brief waistband down a few inches and securely keeping him in place on their bed. Louis' red lips were fastened around Harry's quickly hardening dick as he sucked at it rhythmically over the band of Harry's shorts.

"Lou?" Harry managed to ask, his voice trembling from fear and concern and the uncertainty striking through him like a white hot lightning bolt.

Louis did not respond except to tighten his grip at Harry's hips and tighten his lips around Harry's thick cock, breathing heavily through his nose, and redoubling his efforts. He was in earnest. 

His head a flurry of cloudy, hazy, worried thoughts, Harry's body couldn't resist the familiar and insistent pull of Louis' practiced lips. He hissed at the added pressure, his eyelids slamming shut in pleasure for a moment as he arched slightly up from their mattress. Why was it happening, though, was the question. How had Lou gone from sickened and hating him when they went to bed last night, to Harry waking up to find Louis taking him deep in his beautiful mouth? 

Louis pulled particularly hard at Harry's cock and Harry groaned aloud. Louis had always been amazing at this. He was a skilled lover in every way; so giving and so soft when Harry needed, and so forceful and wicked when he didn't. Louis was the only man who had ever made Harry come in their mouth. It was a heaven he'd only known with Lous. Before the thing, Louis had been the only man who had ever even had Harry in their mouth. 

Louis' right hand slid from Harry's left hip just then and encircled the base of Harry's dick, squeezing, and Harry was rescued from the dark depressing thoughts that could have put a quick end to this joyous change of events. 

"Fuck," Harry gasped as air was punched from his lungs and his long fingers scrabbled at the bedsheet beneath him. He was so close already. Louis' mouth was excruciatingly hot and sinfully wet and Harry hadn't so much as wanked since the night of the thing, when he'd come home, in tears, and ruined everything.

As if he could read Harry's mind, Louis raised his head up in that instant and popped off of Harry to speak, his voice low and raspy. "Stop thinking, you little fucker, and just enjoy the blow job," he growled under his breath, before licking his swollen lips and taking Harry back into his mouth as deep as he could. 

Harry would have laughed at Louis' words if the air hadn't been instantly sucked right out of his lungs, making any response but a breathless gasp impossible. Stop thinking. He echoed in his own brain, The man you love is sucking you off for the first time in months. This is progress. This is fucking fantastic. And so Harry let go, moaning deeply as Louis began to wank him in his tight little fist as he circled the head of Harry's cock with his tongue. 

Harry clenched his buttocks and felt the pull, knowing from years of having Louis take what he wanted like the expert he'd become, that he was nearly there. 

But Louis was an expert in reading Harry, as well. He began to slow down instantly, easing his grip on Harry's cock as he began to just mouth at Harry, letting Harry's cock slide out of the side of his mouth as he wrapped his lips around the side of it and lapped long wet strips up the side. 

Harry huffed and took a moment to catch his breath. He'd been seconds from unloading in Louis' mouth, but apparently, Louis hadn't wanted that. So he lay there, on the edge and so so needy for it as he let Louis have his way, just tasting Harry, teasing him. He felt Louis' left hand let go of Harry's other hip and slip gently down to brush his knuckles softly across Harry's balls through Harry's shorts just as he slipped his mouth back over the head of Harry's cock. 

"Lou," Harry sighed, his fingers letting go of the sheet and resting carefully on Louis' bare shoulder, cautious that Louis would push his touch away. He didn't, though, and warmth spread across Harry's chest and deep within his heart. That's when Harry noticed that Louis had lost his t-shirt at some point, having gone to bed in one. Harry raised up to see a topless Louis rocking gently against their mattress, his body lined up between Harry's spread legs, his perfect little bum still clothed in boxers as it humped just a tiny bit into the mattress beneath them.

With that sight, Harry was on the cusp of coming again in an instant. Just knowing that Louis was getting off on sucking on Harry's cock was enough to make Harry gasp and hum and squeeze just a bit at the skin of Louis shoulders.

Louis caught on in a flash, as he always did, and Harry hissed as he felt the cold air hit his cock head as Lou popped off of him again. This time, Louis lowered his head completely and though his right hand still circled gently at the base of Harry's now-angry red dick to keep it held up off his belly, he used his other hand to pull Harry's shorts out of the way so he could begin lapping carefully at first one, then the other of Harry's balls before sucking them into his mouth one at a time. 

Harry arched against the bed again and cursed under his breath. Louis was so good. So so so good at this. He'd never been bad at it, of course, but over the years, he'd only gotten better. He'd learned, as only someone as giving and caring and loving as Louis could, exactly how to make Harry a blubbering baby of a mess in bed. 

"Please, Lou," Harry moaned as Louis slid his filthy tongue along the seam of Harry's balls. And Harry could imagine how his begging was making Louis feel. Just to check, he raised his head up and confirmed that Louis was full on rutting against their mattress, his own need rising with Harry's. 

Harry wanted to say more; wanted to say the words that he knew would make Louis give in and give Harry what he wanted, but he also didn't want this to be over. This wasn't how Harry had pictured their first time together again at all, but it was happening nonetheless. This was the first time Louis had even so much touched Harry with affection since... before. And Harry's lovelorn soul reveled in it and only wanted more.

He took the opportunity to tentatively run his fingers along the tops of Louis' bare shoulders, feeling his love's warm, freckled skin beneath his fingertips. He hummed with pleasure as Louis licked up the underside of Harry's dick and Harry tracked his touch along the back of Louis' neck, grazing along his hairline, desperate to touch all of his boy he could before the magical moment was over. 

Louis had apparently had enough of Harry's gentle touches, because he raised up and downed all of Harry's cock in a deep swallow, sucking down as his nose dipped to touch Harry's belly. 

Harry stuttered and stopped himself just short of grabbing Louis' hair tightly in his fists. "Fuck, Lou, babe!" Harry cried, his voice high and tight as Louis pulled at Harry's cock with something like desperation. Other garbled words and desperate "uh, uh, uh's" fell from Harry's lips in time with the pull of Louis' mouth. Harry turned to bite at the pillow beneath his head. He was seconds away from coming again, and he pulled lightly at Louis' hair to warn him. 

Louis popped off of him completely, his small hands sliding up beneath Harry's buttocks to squeeze. Harry raised his head up to meet Louis' beautiful blue eyes, dark and hooded, his cheeks flushed and his lips swollen and wet and bright. For a terrible, horrible moment, Harry was frightened that this was Louis' revenge, and he would leave Harry now, hard and desperate for him. Harry should have known better. Louis lowered his head in the next breath and began mouthing and lapping just at the tip of Harry's cock. Harry sighed in relief and relaxed against the bed, his eyes falling closed with pleasure. Louis didn't have a cruel bone in his body. He would never do anything to hurt Harry. Even when they were kids and Louis had been such a prankster, if he even suspected Harry had been hurt by his antics, he would do everything he could to fix it or prevent it. It had been a flirty game for Harry, trying to convince Louis he was upset or hurt by something when he wasn't, just to see how tender Louis would get with him. And Louis was capable of such tenderness. 

Louis was not being tender now, rising to his knees, kneeling over Harry as he slid both of his hands from Harry's ass to his thighs. Harry whined embarrassingly with his own need as Louis lifted Harry's body up a few inches so he could slide Harry's shorts off completely. Harry's heart hammered with the hope that Louis was finally about to let him come. He couldn't resist fisting lightly into Louis' hair as he feared Louis would pull off again as his sucking began again, but shallowly, his lips never passing further than the head. 

"Please, Lou," Harry gasped, "please let me. Please." He wanted so much not to have said it, because he didn't want it to end. He just needed it so bad. So bad. "Need it," he heard himself beg. "So bad, baby." And thank all the heavens and curse them at once, because Louis nodded just slightly before gripping the base of Harry's cock with his right hand before going down on him earnestly, and Harry cried out as he felt the head hit the back of Louis' throat. Louis gave Harry his tight fist and his hot, slick mouth and hummed with encouragement as Harry's body couldn't help but to start rocking desperately into Louis' giving grip and mouth. 

Harry felt his face tighten and scrunch up, gritting his teeth painfully as every muscle in his body clenched and tightened as Louis pulled and pulled at him. "Please," he hissed through his own gritted teeth and then, mercifully, he felt Louis swallow around him and it was all over. 

"Lou," Harry gasped as the force of it hit him, his body gone rigid as only his heels and his shoulders touched the mattress beneath him and white lights flashed behind his eyelids. He felt rather than heard Louis hum around him as the first ribbon of his own cum hit the back of Louis' throat. And Louis continued to suck and milk him through it as Harry groaned, open-mouthed, turning into the pillow again and fisting at Louis' hair as he rocked shallowly into Louis' warm mouth. It was so good. So so so good. After so long. So good. 

As always, Louis stayed there, giving Harry all of him until it was all over and Harry grew sensitive. He was gasping for breath and trying to regain his full vision as Louis pulled off of him gently and let go of Harry's softening cock. 

Harry's vision was still blurry, his body weak and jelly-like, but he scrabbled desperately at Louis' shoulders, trying to pull him up into his arms, needy for a cuddle. 

Louis rolled away, instead, sitting up as though he intended to leave their bed. 

"Lou, let me," Harry managed weakly, his voice hoarse. "You need it, too," he whined softly. He knew he was right. He'd seen the desperate way Louis had humped into their mattress and the stark outline of his hard on as he'd rolled off of Harry. 

Louis stilled, sitting on the edge of their bed, his back to Harry, seeming to consider. 

Harry bit his lip, still coming down from his own orgasm but able to feel the pain of the rejection. "Please, babe. Let me take care of you like you took care of me," he begged gently. "Whatever way you want," he added, certain this was just as confusing for Louis.

Louis glanced fleetingly over his shoulder, back at Harry, but his eyes didn't make contact. 

"C'mon," Harry begged again. "Please. I'll make it so good. Just like you did for me."

Louis moved in an instant, pulling his pants off as he stood and then crawled back on the bed, settling to straddle Harry's bare chest, his knees on either side of Harry's waist. 

Harry stared up at Louis, wide-eyed, unsure, but willing to do whatever he wanted. 

Louis stared down dark eyes at Harry, black and full of desire, but his expression was angry and Harry could feel it radiating down on him in waves.

"Touch me," Louis whispered.

Harry needed no other instruction. He quickly raised his left hand back to cup Louis' arse as he wrapped his right hand around Louis' ridiculously hard cock. Harry's hand was dry as he squeezed and slid it up just a bit. 

"Want it wet, baby?" Harry asked carefully, watching Louis' eyes close as his mouth drew back tightly in pleasure. 

Louis nodded even as he began shallowly rocking his hips back and forth, making Harry wank him. 

Harry considered leaning up and capturing Louis' cock in his lips, but somehow knew that would be a mistake. Louis had asked for Harry's touch only, and Harry would do nothing Louis didn't want. Instead, Harry switched hands for a moment before spitting into his right hand and switching back, the drag on Louis' cock now smooth and tight. He felt Louis' spine stiffen with the pleasure of it.

"That's it, baby," Harry rasped, caressing Louis' curvy buttocks and hips with his left hand even as he sped up his right. The soft, wet clicking of his fist over Louis' hard cock stirred something in Harry's flaccid dick. It had been so long since he'd seen Louis like this. Had him like this. "So gorgeous, love," he murmured encouragingly.

Louis' eyes flashed open and the mixture of anger and desire Harry saw there felt leaden in the pit of his stomach. His fist faltered slightly where it stroked his boy. 

"Shut-up," Louis gasped harshly before he closed his eyes again and arched his back, leaning back to press his hands into Harry's bare thighs, rocking forward into Harry's grip. 

Harry nodded, blinking away the quick tears that sprang to his eyes. This wasn't how it was meant to be. Sad sex. Angry sex. Hate sex, probably. But... he couldn't deny Louis anything. Louis wanted him- just now, even if it was just his touch. Not his face. Not his voice. Not even his lips. 

Harry redoubled his efforts, busying his hands to touch and pinch and twist and glide just the way he knew Louis liked. 

Louis huffed atop him and sped up his hips, forcing his cock harder and faster into Harry's tight fist, his head thrown back exposing the gorgeous column of his neck. Harry couldn't resist reaching up his left hand to touch there, gliding down the stubbled skin of Louis' neck to the softer hair of his pectorals, pinching lightly at his nipples, and watching them turn red as they hardened. All the while, Harry's teary eyes devouring the naked beauty above him. 

"Uhhhhhh," Louis moaned breathlessly, clenching his buttocks. Harry's heart quickened as he felt Louis fingernails dig into the tender, sensitive flesh of his thighs as he arched further. 

Harry wanted to speak, to tell him how lovely he was. To grab him by the back of his neck and force him down for a kiss. Or grip him by the hips and pull him forward so Harry could wrap his lips around him. He did none of those things. Instead he brushed his thumb over the head of Louis' cock and watched in awe, excitement and sadness as Louis' hips stuttered and his jaw clenched just as the first ribbon of his cum spurted out to paint along Harry's bare chest. Harry continued to jerk him through it, slowing down and easing his grip just how he knew Louis liked as a second and then third spurt of cum joined the first. It was hot on Harry's skin and Harry's cock threatened to come to life again.

But Louis was done and he didn't so much as look down at Harry before he sat up and climbed off, leaving Harry alone and naked, covered in cum that wasn't his. 

Harry lay there and watched with sad eyes as Louis picked his shorts up off their bedroom floor and headed to their bathroom without a backward glance. 

Harry passed his clean hand across his wet cheeks. It wasn't the way he would have wanted their first time again to go. But that was ok. It had to be. It was a start.

Harry was still nude but had sat up and was wiping Louis' cum off his chest with his own discarded shorts when Louis emerged from their bathroom again, his shorts back on and his toothbrush in his mouth. Harry watched Louis stride to their closet, again without even a glance in Harry's direction, and disappear inside. 

"Lou," Harry said, hearing the fragility in his own voice and clearing his throat before trying again. "Lou, can we talk about that for a minute?"

He could hear Louis moving hangers around in their closet, but say nothing in response. 

Harry pulled the covers over his naked lower half, feeling oddly vulnerable now that the moment was over and Louis was back to ignoring him. "Lou, please? Can you just... can we just talk for a minute?"

Louis emerged again just as he pulled a pair of joggers over his slim hips, his chest still bare. He cut two cold blue eyes in Harry's direction before pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth to speak. "Whatcha want to talk about?" He asked robotically before striding back towards their bathroom again.

Harry sighed. "This, Lou. Shouldn't we discuss it? It was... confusing." And that was putting it mildly. 

Again, Louis did not respond right away, but Harry heard the sound of him spitting and then rinsing the sink after. A moment later, Louis came back out again and fixed Harry with an angry gaze as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. "Confusing? You wake up thinking I was someone else?" He asked with a terrible smirk. 

And Harry felt the ice of Louis hate and the stabbing burn of his comment strike through his heart and spread in seconds. "No, fuck no, of course not, Lou. It was wonderful, as always, because it was you and only you," he rushed to explain with all the sincerity he had. "No, it's just... it was unexpected." And he pulled the sheets closer around him as he spoke, feeling as naked and exposed as he was, in a way he'd never felt around Louis before. "Just... considering everything."

Louis rolled his eyes and scoffed. "It was a fucking blow job and wank, H. Don't overthink it. I woke up hard." he added with a shrug. "That's it."

Harry knew immediately that he shouldn't let it get to him. That at the bones of it, Louis had wanted to have sex with Harry again, and that was a wonderful, beautiful, fabulous thing. But it still hurt how coldly it had seemed to happen; how cold Louis was being. 

"Ok," Harry said slowly as Louis strode back over to their closet again. He brushed his clean hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Ok," he said again, if mainly to reassure himself. 

Louis strode quickly back into the room, yanking on a jumper as he tried to slide into his shoes without using his hands. 

Harry frowned. "You going out again?" He asked, the fragile note to his voice there again. It probably never left anymore, really. 

Louis sighed heavily. "Yeah, Harry. I'm going out again. You're here, and I have to get away, ok?" He half -shouted as he turned on Harry. "You're always fucking here and I can't fucking leave or throw your sorry ass out cause I fucking promised you, so yeah, bucko, I'm going out again. Got it?"

And before Harry could even react, Louis was striding out of their room and down the hall. He slammed the front door shut so hard the whole house seemed to rattle. 

Harry crumpled into their bedclothes and cried. 

__________

After awhile, even crying in his husband's dried spunk after hate sex got old. Harry took a shower, trying not to think too much about the fact that Louis had never treated Harry like that after sex before. It was more than fair. Harry had never let anyone else touch his dick before, either. 

It was nearly eight a.m. when he was clean and dressed and he wanted strong coffee so badly. It was time to go to the market. Louis had almost nothing in the house, having lived off delivery and pot noodles for the month Harry had been thrown out. He grabbed his coat and his keys and took his car to the market down the highway. Pushing a cart like the housewife he'd always been, he filled it with Lou's favorites, even loading up on the junk food Louis loved that Harry usually kept out of the house for his own good. But just now, Harry wanted to indulge his boy. In any way possible. 

Back home with a boot full of groceries, Harry found the toiletries he'd ordered waiting in a box on their doorstep, and no sign of Lou. Trying his best not to let it get him down, Harry put everything away and prepared a salad for himself for lunch, fairly sure Louis would not be home to join him. This time, he'd also remembered to bring his overnight bag. He set it up in the spare bathroom, however, along with his new purchases. He felt half like an uninvited guest in their home and he just... he really had no idea what to do with himself. He'd only been back home a few days, after all. Truth be told, he expected Louis to throw him out again at any moment. But Harry couldn't dwell on that possibility. Things were moving in the right direction, he was sure. Just... not how he'd hoped they would. 

After lunch, Harry put his second re-do date in action, finally calling his mum. 

"Honey, how are you?" Her gentle voice soothed him through the phone. 

"I'm ok, mum," Harry heard his voice break a bit. He was a terrible liar. Always had been. 

"You're not," she corrected him gently. "How's it with Lou? Any progress?"

Harry huffed a sigh. "Yes... I think so... yes. But mum, I could use your help with that, actually."

So Harry laid out the plans for Saturday, assuming Louis was willing, and decided it was time to at least pretend to get back into the swing of normalcy. He spent the afternoon with his notebook on the coffee table and his guitar in his lap, trying the best he could to work. He'd been writing song after song about all of this for Louis. For himself. But they were all terrible. Terrible because Harry had no idea how it was all going to turn out. 

The sun was down and Harry had finished off his second glass of red wine before he decided he ought to give up and make dinner on the off chance Louis came home soon. He pulled out the ingredients for vegan BBQ sandwiches, one of the few vegetarian meals Louis liked, and homemade chips, popping a glass in the freezer for one of Louis' favorites pints he'd just bought. He was barely started on the meal when Louis came home. 

Nerves were something Harry was used to. As a performer, nerves came with the job. But feeling nervous just because Louis had come home was a relatively new thing.

"Hi, baby," Harry called gently over his shoulder as Louis walked in and shrugged out of his coat. "Did you have a good day?" It was a far too normal-sounding question - one that would have worked before, but now it just sounded fake and stupid to Harry's ears. 

Louis apparently agreed because he said nothing in reply. Harry bit his lip and went back to cutting up the potatoes. He'd just finished blending his own herbs for them and wiped his hands on the green apron his mum had got him last Christmas. 

Suddenly, he felt rather than heard Louis behind him, crowding into his space, pressing his small hands to Harry's buttocks and cupping them. Harry swallowed a yelp in surprise as Louis latched a hot, wet mouth onto Harry's neck and Louis began grinding his crotch into Harry's thighs without so much as a hello. 

"Babe?" Harry asked uncertainly. It felt like this morning all over again. 

And apparently it was, because in the next moment, Louis was peeling the apron up Harry's waist and popping the button of his jeans without another word. 

Fear and desire sizzled along Harry's spine as Louis gasped slightly into the shell of Harry's ear before capturing his earlobe in between his lips and rutting his now-hard dick up into Harry's bum.

"Lou?" Harry tried again, fighting back the intense longing his body was automatically flipped to like a switch. Harry's body knew Louis so well... and knew what it could do. 

Louis said nothing as he slipped his hand into the front of Harry's trousers and began sucking a hot, wet kiss into Harry's neck.

Harry gasped at the contact on his now-hard on and his hips reflectively bucked up for more.

Louis obliged willingly, removing his hand from the outside of Harry's boxers and using both hands to pull Harry's pants down to his thighs. His hand was hot and tight on Harry's dick in an instant and Harry had to drop the knife and grip the edge of their kitchen counter with both hands, throwing his head back as Louis began wanking him ruthlessly. It was dry and tight and it almost hurt but goddamnit, it was so hot Harry could hardly think. 

"Turn around," Louis growled, and Harry had to blink twice to understand him, his head was so fuzzy. But he did, and Louis immediately pressed Harry's bare buttocks against the counter as he dropped to his knees.

Harry swallowed hard as he looked down at Louis, who blinked up at him once before taking Harry's cock back in hand and pulling at it roughly. Louis was so lovely, even kneeling there before him, eyes dark and intense, cheeks pink from the cold, his cheekbones even more prominent as he leaned forward and sucked Harry's dick into his mouth.

Harry's knees buckled a bit and he reached back to grip the counter behind him for leverage. Louis was merciless, wanking and sucking at Harry with no pause. It took Harry all of maybe sixty seconds before he was gasping a warning to Louis that he was going to come. 

Louis only doubled his pace and Harry couldn't help the groan of intense pleasure that escaped him as he came down Louis' throat. Fuck, Louis was so good at this. The best.

Louis continued to pull at Harry gently as he emptied into Lou's mouth, and when Harry was a touch too sensitive, he stood quickly and turned to grab a beer from the fridge, and headed to their couch, flipping on the Telly without a backwards glance at Harry. 

Harry was slow to recover, but when he realized Lou had abandoned him in the kitchen, naked from the waist down, Harry flushed crimson and quickly pulled his pants back on. He wanted to cry and shout for joy at the same time. He decided on joy; he was so sick of crying. 

Louis was just so confusing, was the thing. And Harry felt oddly rejected by him, though he'd literally just sucked him off. 

Harry quickly righted his apron, turning back to the half-prepared food and finishing dinner as Louis watched a Footie match without saying a word. 

When the food was ready, Harry put them each a serving on a plate and grabbed Louis' pint, too. He handed Lou his plate and his pint where he sat on the couch, and Louis didn't even glance up at him, let alone say thank you as he took it. Harry, biting his lip to keep from saying anything, took his own plate and sat on the other end of the couch, feigning interest in the match as they ate in silence. 

More than two hours later, the food long gone and Louis' beer and another pint, too, Harry noticed Lou dozing off on their couch. So he reached over and nudged him. "Lou," he called gently. "Want to head to bed?"

Lou grumbled in his half-awake state and popped one eye open at Harry. Truth be told, Harry was tired, too. But more importantly, he wanted them both to get enough sleep for the day Harry had planned tomorrow, assuming Louis didn't run out on him before he could tell him about it.

"Want me to carry you?" Harry offered when Lou didn't sit up or respond. 

At this, however, both Louis' eyes opened and he seemed to assess Harry, who was now hovering over him slightly in the half-light of their television. Without a word, Louis grabbed Harry by the hips and unceremoniously tossed him backward on the couch, Harry banging his head a bit on the arm of the couch at the opposite end.

"What the..." Harry started to ask in shock. 

He got his answer a moment later when Louis climbed on top of him, his hands reaching for Harry's fly once more, undoing the zip in an instant.

Harry was speechless. Louis was insatiable today. And for the third time that day, Harry watched helplessly as Louis pulled Harry's pants down and lowered his mouth to Harry's cock. 

This time, Louis was a bit more gentle than he'd been earlier in he kitchen. Harry reached up and gripped the back of the couch and the cushion beneath him as Louis began just mouthing wetly at Harry's tip as it filled up and grew hard. He gasped and squirmed when Louis reached up and began playing with Harry's nipples through his shirt.

It was pretty fucked up, is what it was, Harry knew. But his body didn't seem to mind. His eyes rolled back in his head as Louis went down on him over and over again until Harry was keening and whining and gripping the couch until his knuckles were white. It felt unreal and fabulous, of course, but... Harry wanted to touch, too. His body had been aching for Louis for so many weeks. He wanted to hold him and to kiss him and to make him feel as lovely and as loved as he was.

"Lou, can I?" Harry asked tentatively, reaching down to brush Lou's jaw with one finger.

Louis stilled, and Harry was half sure he was actually considering it, but a moment later, he simply shook his head a tiny bit and down he was taking Harry once again, this time adding his expert hand into the mix.

Harry barely had time to feel disappointed or rejected before he felt the telltale beginnings of his orgasm. He didn't even have time to properly warn Lou this time, barely getting a grunt and a tap of his hand on Lou's cheek before he was coming so hard down Lou's throat.

Lou swallowed it all and then even licked up a bit that had dropped to Harry's tummy. But then he sat up and downed the dregs of his pint without another look at Harry before he stood and headed off to bed.

Harry lay there on the couch, his jeans still undone. Louis hadn't even bothered to pull down his boxers this time, and had simply pulled Harry out through the opening. He wasn't going to cry. He just wasn't. But he had to talk to someone about it. There were exactly two people on earth who knew about what he'd done and who were still talking to him; his mom and his sister. There was no way in hell he was calling his mom to talk about this.

Gemma picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, bro, you ok?" She asked, concern in her lilting voice. 

Harry nodded and lied. "Yeah." But then he reconsidered. "No," he corrected, his voice breaking as he tucked himself back into his boxers with his free hand.

"Tell me," she prodded him gently. 

So Harry did. He didn't go into lurid detail, but tried to convey the sudden change in their relationship. The way Louis was really interested in doing one thing and one thing only with Harry. The way he was becoming habitual about it. Obsessed almost. The way it was angry and obscene. The way Harry sort of wanted it to stop but at the same time was so grateful that Louis was even interested anymore...

"Ok, got it, Ed," Gemma cut him off. "Stop with the details."

Harry would have laughed if it had been any other situation. Gemma knew he and Lou had always had a healthy sex life. More than once she'd been an unknowing witness to sounds or suggestions that they would both have preferred never got out. 

"Look, if it's making you uncomfortable, then tell him," she said flatly. "Neither of you should be doing anything that you don't want to do, no matter how guilty you're feeling."

Harry sighed. It's not that he didn't want it, it's just... he wasn't sure he wanted it quite like this.

"I think I know why, though," she said slowly, her voice thoughtful. "I mean, I think I know why he's doing this."

Harry would have made a smart remark about how irresistible he was on any other occasion. 

"I think he's trying to erase it... what you did... from his mind. And probably yours, too."

Harry scrunched up his face in confusion. "I don't get it. He'll barely look at me or touch me most of the time. Then all of a sudden, he wants his mouth all over me.'

"Jesus, Ed, shut the fuck up," Gemma barked out a small huff. "I don't want to hear about my baby brother like that, got it? Just... fuck," She sighed. "Look, he's probably kind of reclaiming his territory. You know? He wants to remind himself, and you, that you're his. That only he gets to do that to you, ok? So, yeah."

Harry's brain barely acknowledged how uncomfortable this topic must be for his sister he's so fucking relieved to finally understand what's happening. He and Louis had been each other's firsts in almost everything sexual. And Harry's only ever gotten a blow job from Louis. That much was still true, even if Louis didn't necessarily fully believe that anymore. It made sense that Louis was being possessive about that, considering that another man had now had his mouth on Harry. Louis wanted to forget that. He wanted Harry to forget it, too.

Another thought popped into Harry's brain then. Louis probably had doubts about whether Harry had actually enjoyed it, too. Whether Harry wanted other people to have their mouths on him. Whether Harry wanted Louis like that at all anymore. Harry couldn't reject Louis now. Not if he was doubts about how much Harry wanted him. Angry and obscene or not, Harry was not going to turn Louis down. Never. 

Gemma was grateful to hang up a few moments later, joking about needing to clean her body and soul after Harry's descriptions. Harry would have laughed any other time. 

It made so much sense, the way Louis had been acting all day. And it hurt Harry's heart, too, getting these little peeks into how much Louis was hurting. Harry had to fix it. He just had to. 

He stood up and zipped up his jeans before cleaning up their dinner dishes and the kitchen. He wondered if Louis was already asleep, and briefly considered if he should sleep on the couch as not to disturb him. But that would feel like a step backward, and Harry did not want that, so he shut off all the lights and headed to their bedroom.

Lou had shut off all the lights there, too. Harry could just make out the outline of Louis already tucked under the covers, so he undressed in the doorway and tiptoed to his side of the bed as quietly as he could. He tried hard not to make the bed dip too much as he climbed in beside Lou. But as soon as he was settled, he could tell by Louis' breathing that he was awake. Waiting. 

Harry wanted to talk. He wanted to tell Louis how much he loved him. How much he needed him. How wrong he'd been to do what he'd done. He'd said it all before, but he'd say it again and again until Louis believed him. But he didn't want to make Louis angry, either, by starting up a conversation while they both lay in bed. So he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling Louis' hot breath on his bare shoulder.

Finally, just as Harry was fading into sleep, Louis spoke. 

"What the fuck are we doing, H?" He whispered. 

Harry's heart lurched at the emotion in Louis' voice. He'd been crying. Silently and right next to Harry, he'd been crying, and Harry had no idea. 

Harry rolled to his side to face Louis, though he could barely make out his eyelashes in the dark. "We're trying," he said, his voice breaking as he fought back tears of his own. 

Louis said nothing for a long while, and then, "But why?" 

It was almost a sob and Harry absolutely wished he were dead. Wished he'd never lived long enough to hurt Louis like this - to hear the pain in that beautiful voice... pain he'd caused. Pain he didn't know if he would ever be able to take away. He also wished he'd never lived long enough to hear the love of his life question why they were even together anymore.

He took a breath and heard his own breath catch as he tried not to sob out loud. "I'm trying because I love you, Lou," he whispered, trying to make out Louis' eyes in the dark only to realize they were closed. "Because I love you more than anything or any one in the world. Because I don't want to go even one single day without you in my life."

Harry felt the bed shake as Louis trembled. He couldn't stop his hand from reaching out to wipe the tears from Louis' cheeks - tears he couldn't really see but knew were there. 

Louis turned briefly into the touch and Harry's heart beat hard and fast. Louis longed for Harry's touch. He knew it. Could see it in that one motion. But a moment later, Louis rolled over, his back to Harry.

"Goodnight," Louis said softly into the darkness.

"I love you," Harry replied.


	5. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gemma has some words of comfort and Harry attempts re-do number two.

Louis was gone again when Harry awoke, but that wasn't a surprise. He sat up in bed and shot out a text to him, letting him know that he had made plans for them in the afternoon, if Louis was interested. He didn't expect a response. 

Harry then sent a text to Gemma, asking her to visit and have brunch. She agreed immediately, and Harry was awed and grateful that she was still so willing to give him loving support. He was so looking forward to seeing her, but the moment he opened the door and saw her standing on their front stoop, he burst into tears. 

She took one look at him and wrapped him in her arms, squeezing him tight and shushing him. 

He let her hold him for long minutes in the foyer before heading off to grab some tissues from the bathroom while she removed her coat and gloves.

As they sat at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in each their hands, and the French toast Harry had made mostly gone, she eyed him and said softly, "Tell me."

Harry had just been so relieved to see her. Someone who looked at him without hate or disgust. Someone who understood, or at least tried to. Someone on his side even when he didn't deserve it.

"I don't know what to do, Gems," he said, his voice still hoarse from his earlier cry. "Things are just... all wrong." 

That's the best way he could describe how things had been; the way Louis had been basically using him. The way he'd been so single-minded and just... cold. 

Gemma grimaced and nodded. "But how else would they be, Ed?" She asked not unkindly. "Things are wrong."

And yes, Harry supposed they were. He knew that, but hearing her say it out loud put a finality to it. "But how can I fix this, then?" He asked, having come to expect her to have all the answers about this mess he'd gotten himself into.

Gemma frowned and squinted at him incredulously. "You can't." Then she shrugged as though her words hadn't just cleaved Harry's stomach in two. "The only way to really fix this is to go back in time and just not do it." 

Harry took a quick breath, his heart plummeting. He couldn't fix it, could he? Never really. What was done was done. 

But Gemma wasn't finished. "And since you can't do that, all you can do is... do better."

Harry bowed his head. "I'm trying," he argued softly, willing the tears to stay back. "I've been trying so hard..." and he has to take a deep breath, his heart in pieces thinking about the way Louis looks at him now... the way he won't look at him at all sometimes. 

Gemma nodded. "I know you are, kid," she said with a small smile. "It's like I said before though..." she paused, clearly choosing her words carefully. "When someone you love does something so out of character... so far removed from what you ever thought possible... well..." she winces a bit at her little brother, and Harry can tell she doesn't want to hurt him with what she has to say. "It has the effect of making every single thing you ever thought about them come into question."

She has told Harry this before, too, and it had been just as terrifying to hear then. 

"Lou is probably doubting every single thing he thought he knew about you," she continues, her voice as gentle as he's ever heard it. Then she levels her gaze to his before dropping the bomb. "Every single tender moment, Ed." 

Harry feels the floor fall out from beneath him. If that's true, if Louis is really rethinking every single thing they've ever shared... every lovely moment of their life together... every statement of love Harry has ever made... well...

"There's no coming back from this," Harry hears himself whisper just before his eyes fill so full of tears he can no longer see his sister sitting across from him at the kitchen table. He feels, rather than sees, when she reaches across the table to rest her hand over his in comfort. 

"No," she says gently. "There's no going back."

A montage of moments flash through Harry's brain. The first time he met Louis, the first time they flirted. The first time they kissed. The first time they got each off. The first time they had sex. The first time they said I love you. The day they said their vows. Harry's mistake hadn't just erased all of that. No, it was much worse. What he'd done had mangled all of that. Twisted those precious precious moments into dark, evil, gnarled memories for Louis. All of those wonderful, beautiful memories weren't gone... they were bad memories now. 

Harry wasn't just a mess over that thought. He was fucking wrecked.

"Hey," Gemma tried to sooth him through his sobs. "Hey, listen. That doesn't mean you should give up. Not at all, kid." 

Harry hears her slide her chair back from the table and move to kneel beside his chair as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He's buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.

"Harry, listen to me," she says firmly. "He still loves you."

This somehow makes Harry cry even harder, because he's not sure anymore. He really can't tell if Louis feels anything for him but hatred and disgust anymore. Even when Louis is attacking him with his hands and his mouth, it feels so angry and so full of loathing that Harry feels dirty about it.

He shakes his head at his sister. "You don't know," he tries to say, his voice blubbering and weak. "You don't see the way he looks... the way he talks to me..."

Gemma squeezes him tighter. "No, but what I do know is that he's still here," she says gently but decisively. "He's still here when he could be gone. That proves how much he loves you."

Harry shakes his head again because he doesn't know that it does. He thought so, too, at first. But now... well with the new change in things, he wonders if maybe Louis kind of wants to hurt him, too. Not that it isn't deserved.

Gemma sighs and sits back in her chair, though she pulls it closer to him so they're knee to knee, her arm still slung over his shoulder. He feels her brush his hair back from his cheek as she talks. 

"What you've done, Harry, it's probably hurt him so much he can't stand it," she begins.

Harry sobs and presses his palms into this thighs, wanting to hurt himself because he knows how right she is. 

"But listen to me," she says quickly, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. "He's here in spite of that. Jesus, Harry, to even look at you after what you did must be killing him inside. But he stayed anyway. To be with you. That's how much he loves you, can't you see?" 

Harry feels her press her forehead to his and he leans into her touch, needing the comfort. The warmth. The love. 

Gemma whispers then, her hand running up and down his upper back in small circles. "He loves you more than he loves himself, kid. Or else he'd be long gone."

Harry hiccups, the hope in his heart kindling to a small flame at her words. He looks at his sister through tear-filled eyes and she smiles and nods at him. "I love him more than anything," is all he can manage to say in response. 

Gemma's smile broadens a bit. "I know that. I watched you fall head over heels in love with him when you were only sixteen."

Harry sniffs and nods. It's so true. He fell for Louis immediately. And never even questioned it. Louis is just... the one for Harry. In every single way. Has been from day one. 

"You made him fall for you then," she adds with a sly smile. "You can do it again."

Harry blows air out of his lungs and shakes his head at her. "I don't even know how I did it back then, though," he says in total honesty. "I still don't have a clue why he picked me."

Gemma sits back and rolls her eyes at him in that way he recognizes from childhood that tells him she finds him obnoxious. "Literally everyone who meets you falls for you, Ed," she says with what is a touch of bitterness in her voice. "Don't be such a fucking liar."

Harry puffs up his chest and frowns. "No, but, it's different with Louis." It's real, he almost adds. 

Gemma nods. "I know that. And it's gonna be harder this time, for sure," she says simply, reaching for her tea once again. "Because this time it's not starting from scratch. This time," and she pauses while she swallows. "You're up against yourself."

Harry cocks his head to the side. "What do you mean?" He has fear in his heart at her words, his stomach in knots over what she's about to say. He thinks he already knows. 

Gemma levels another serious gaze at him. "You're literally the person Louis loves the most, and hates the most, in the world right now."

Fuck. He did know, but not phrased like that. Not at all like that. 

But Gemma's not done explaining. "When he looks at you, he sees every single wonderful thing you've ever done for him, and wonders if you're just a big fat fucking fake. He can't trust his own heart anymore, when it comes to you."

Harry buries his hands in his hair once more. She's right. She's so goddamned right it's sickening. 

"And he sees what you did every time, too," she reminds him unnecessarily. "Only it's probably worse in his imagination since he didn't actually see it."

Harry wants to throw up. It all makes sense. "He's asked me questions, about... it," Harry says lamely, not daring to meet her eyes for fear of her judgment. 

"You should answer all of his questions," she says quietly.

"I do," Harry replies sincerely. He bites his lower lip. "But it's like... he wants to know sometimes, so I tell him, but then he hates me for it." And Harry wipes his eyes quickly, begging them to stop with the tears for once. "I hate me for it, too," he finishes lamely. 

Gemma pats his arm kindly. "Yeah. He wants to know, but doesn't, at the same time. And I'm willing to bet he hates himself for that, too."

Harry looks up at her sharply then. It makes so much sense. The way Louis hesitates before bringing it up. The way he cringes even as the words leave his mouth. It's brave, is what it is. Harry doesn't think he'd have the courage to ask if their roles had been reversed. 

"I guess so," he says quietly. "I hate talking about it and he hates asking about it but if he asks, I tell him. He deserves that much." Then he shakes his head and adds, "He deserves better."

Gemma nods in agreement. "Then give him better. Give him the best you've got. And then give him some more. It's the only way that you can make him fall in love with you again."

Harry starts to cry yet again, feeling the knife twist in his gut. The very idea that Louis doesn't love him anymore... that he'll have to fight to get Louis to love him again... and all because Harry is a handsy, weak, using, fucking prick. 

"What if I can't?" He whispers, voicing his biggest fear. "What if he just decides not to stay anymore? What if, after all of this, he just leaves me one day?"

Gemma sits up and really glares at Harry then, and he almost winces from her scathing look.

"What if he does, then?" She asks fairly coldly. "Is the possibility that he'll stay with you forever and you'll be happy together again, worth it for you to risk that pain and keep trying? Or would you rather just give up now and cut your losses?"

Harry closes his eyes and can't even vocalize his feelings at her words. Of course it's worth it. Obviously it's worth it or he would never have come home. He would never have begged Louis to stay; to try.

"Because it's worth it to Louis," Gemma says a little more gently now. "Clearly. Or, like I said, he'd be gone already."

And that's really what Harry needed to hear, he supposes. Yes it's worth it for Harry, but knowing that Louis is choosing to stay, too, being reminded of it, sets his broken heart racing again. 

They sit in silence for a few long moments. There's so much fear in Harry. Does he even deserve Louis anymore? Maybe he did, once. But now? Definitely not. And how much it's hurting Louis now, well... he can't help but ask what's been on his mind the past few days. 

"Gem," Harry says, his lip trembling. "What if I'm hurting him more by staying? What if it's the wrong thing? What if..." and he stifles a sob, biting his lower lip. "What if he deserves better than me?"

Gemma cocks her head at him and Harry can tell by her sharp eyes that she's considering the possibility. And that... hurts. Harry's never been perfect, that's for sure. But for his own sister to actually wonder if Louis is too good for him? Well... it's what he deserves. He buries his head in his hands again and cries so hard he chokes. 

"I hate myself so much," he whispers. "So much... sometimes I wish... I wish I were just dead."

Gemma's arms are around him again. "Listen to me, little brother; Don't ever say that again. Don't you even think it," she says gently but with a solidity to her voice that Harry clings to. "You made a mistake. That's all. A big one. A terrible one, yes. But it's a mistake that millions of other people have made, too. You're no better or worse than most of the rest of the world."

It's not comforting, because he's still worse than the man he loves. He's worse than Louis deserves.

She holds him for a long time as he tries to get a hold of himself. Then, finally, when they break apart, she's smiling at him in a way that he knows is her attempt to reassure him. He just loves her so much.

"I'm so sorry that this happened to you..." he says, squeezing her hand. "I hate that you ever had to learn so much about this kind of betrayal..." he looks up at her and hopes she understands him as he adds, "But I'm so grateful for you."

Gemma's face softens and she leans in to hug her little brother again. "You're welcome," she says warmly right before kissing his temple and leaning back to finish off her tea. "It's not the same, though, for me. Or it wasn't." She smiles warmly at Harry, a real gleam in her eye. "You and Louis have always had something really special. And that hasn't changed."

Later, when Harry walks Gemma to her car with a care package of his homemade banana bread and hot chocolate mix, he presses a kiss to her forehead and tells her he loves her. He really does. He's so lucky to have her in his life. Especially right now. 

As he cleans up the kitchen once she's gone, Harry realizes that for the first time, he really understands that saying about marriage being a choice, every day. He and Louis had fallen so fast and so hard all of those years ago, being together hadn't really felt like a choice. It had just happened. They'd just been together and been one from the go. But now, with this mess, Harry really understands that choosing to be with someone and choosing to love them and to try, and to stay, is what real commitment is. Harry is choosing Louis because Louis is the most important person in the world to him. He's choosing Louis because he doesn't want to live one day without him. Harry now fully realizes Louis is choosing Harry in the same way. 

The realization warms Harry's broken heart.

Though Louis never responds to Harry's texts, Harry still goes about preparing for their second date re-do. He's asked Louis to be home by 4 pm so they have time to make the drive. Harry takes a quick shower using his products to ensure he smells like his old self, and carefully packs an overnight bag with the items they'll need. He has to go back into their closet to retrieve Louis' sleeping bag, hesitating before carefully removing the heart wrenching items Louis had left on top of it. Harry's seconds from breaking down again just imagining Louis laying there, crying himself to sleep night after night, thinking about what Harry did. It's enough to steel his resolve while rolling the sleeping bag up and putting it next to his and two pillows in the back of the Range Rover. He then slides a manila envelope into the side pocket of the duffel; it's important, but it's scary. He's not quite sure how to go about sharing the contents with Lou, but he will; he has to. He also spends a good forty-five minutes putting together a playlist on his iPad. Then, thinking about the single-mindedness Louis' had lately, he grabs a couple extra pairs of pants and stuffs them in the outside pocket of their bag.

Louis pulls in to their drive at 4:22, and Harry isn't the least bit surprised. Louis is punctual to a fault unless he has something to prove. Apparently, he has twenty-two minutes worth of proving, and that's just fine.

Harry's already got his coat on again and the Range Rover is warming up in their drive when Louis walks through their door. 

He takes one look at Harry and sighs. "What do you have planned, H?" He asks, setting his keys down gingerly on the still-broken table. Harry really needs to fix that. 

"Just a little trip, is all," Harry says with a slight smile. He feels even more awkward now, after their recent bouts of hate-sex.

Louis sighs again. "I don't feel like being around people," he says, passing a hand over his face wearily. 

Harry's already nodding, zipping up his coat. "Yeah, that's fine. It's just gonna be you and me." If his mum has cleared out like she promised, that is. 

Louis eyes Harry skeptically for a moment. "How long of a trip?" He asks, gritting his teeth a bit and averting his eyes from Harry quickly. 

Harry tries to ignore the pang of hurt that shoots through him knowing Louis can still hardly look at him. "Just the night," he says quietly, hopefully.

Louis shakes his head. "I'm not in the mood for some sort of romantic getaway," he says with sarcasm. "If that much wasn't clear."

Harry bites his lip and shoves his hands in his coat pockets. "It's not like that," he lies. Well, it's not... exactly.

But Louis looks a little pissed at that response. "No?" He asks bitterly. 

Harry briefly looks up at their ceiling for strength. "Just... please, Lou. I've taken care of everything," he pleads, trying to remind himself that even if Louis doesn't want to do this, he still came home, which mean he is still trying. This trip is also Harry trying, but the trip isn't the end all be all. If Lou won't come, then Harry will just think of something else.

Louis takes a deep breath and nods once. "Ok," he says quietly. 

Harry's heart leaps for joy. Louis is choosing. Louis is trying. Harry is so fucking grateful. 

They head out to the Range Rover in silence, Harry locking their house up behind him. Louis gets into the passenger side and buckles himself in without a glance at Harry. But it's all right. They're on their way.

The drive is long, made longer by the fact that Louis only speaks to tell Harry he needs a bathroom break one hour in. They listen to the radio and Harry tries hard not to talk, in case it ruins things and Louis changes his mind and tells Harry to turn around. 

They make it to Harry's mum's house after the sun has long since gone down, and Harry can tell just by the fact that the porch light is on that his mum is not home. He pulls into the garage and the empty spot confirms they'll have the place to themselves. He loves his mum. She clearly loves him back since she was willing to vacate her own home for the night for her youngest child. 

Harry parks their vehicle and turns off the engine before Louis speaks, but when he does, it's not what Harry expected to hear. 

"Are you serious, H?" Louis asks, incredulous and half-laughing. 

Harry cuts surprised eyes at his husband and shrugs. "What do you mean?"

Louis barks out a cold laugh. "Your mum's not home, right?" He asks, his eyes dark and annoyed as they meet Harry's.

Harry can only shake his head. "No," he drawls. 

Lou shakes his head and huffs out another laugh. "This is your idea of a romantic getaway? Your mum's?" But he gets out of the Range Rover anyway, shaking his head all the while. 

Harry hates it. He can tell Louis is mocking him and laughing at his expense. That's not something Louis does to him. Not really. Not ever before. Harry watches Louis get out and slam the passenger door. He takes a moment to take a deep breath and find his bravery before he climbs out as well, heading to the back of the vehicle to grab their stuff. 

Louis doesn't offer to help, just stands there with his hands in his pockets and watches as Harry struggles to sling the overnight bag over his shoulder and grab both sleeping bags and pillows at once. But that's ok. Harry can carry it all. 

He finds the door to inside unlocked and Louis brushes past him to get inside into the warmth of the house. His mum has left a couple of lights on and Harry glances at a handwritten note next to the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. He'll read it later. 

Louis has already removed his coat and plopped down on the oversized couch, arms spread wide as he looks expectantly at Harry. His expression says OK, now what, genius?

Harry clears his throat and lowers everything he's carrying onto the other couch. It's starting to rain outside and he feels a chill. Perfect weather for a fire. He takes two strides across the living room rug and switches the fireplace on before shrugging out of his coat. 

He can feel Louis' eyes watching him, and he flushes from head to toe. He feels every bit the foolish sixteen-year-old boy who tried to woo the eighteen-year-old man with the gorgeous blue eyes a decade ago.

"Thirsty?" He asks, not actually glancing at Louis before heading to his mum's fridge, hoping she's done what he asked to the letter. 

Louis sniffs out a laugh and Harry glances back to see he's laid down on the couch, kicking off his shoes. He turns his attention back to the fridge to find that, yes, his mum has followed his instructions. There are three bottles of the only wine Louis has ever liked already chilling on the shelves, along with two rather large wine glasses. He smiles in gratitude and reads the note she left for him as he opens one bottle and pours both glasses full.

You're a wonderful man. You have a wonderful man. You are wonderful together. I am so proud of you. You can do this, honey. I love you. 

He's not going to cry over his mum's encouraging words. He's cried plenty. But he does fold up the note and place it carefully in his wallet. He wants to keep it forever.

He returns to the living room with the wine, Louis watching his movements with narrowed eyes as he sits up at the last moment in order to take his glass from Harry. It's another victory, so Harry sits down on the other end of the same couch as Louis. 

Louis takes a sip of the wine, his eyebrows not even raising as he must realize it's his favorite, before asking. "What's with the sleeping bags? We camping out in the rain?"

Harry swallows his own drink down and shakes his head. "No," but that's all he says. He doesn't want to show all his cards before Louis is even a little tipsy. 

They drink a full glass each in silence, both watching the flames in the fireplace and listening to the crackle as the rain outside slowly gets louder. 

They've been there an hour when the doorbell rings, right on time. 

Louis startles, as though he'd been half asleep on the couch, which, he probably was. But Harry's been expecting it and bolts for the door so fast his stockinged feet slide a bit on the hardwood floor of the foyer. He's flipping twenties out of his wallet as he opens the door. 

The pizza delivery person isn't remotely shocked to find Harry Styles opening the door for their delivery, because the pizza delivery person is a local who knows his mum. Harry slips the kid an extra forty dollars with a grin and takes both the pies, shutting the door with his foot and heading back to the living room to set the pizza on the coffee table in front of Lou.

"The fuck is this?" Louis hisses, in genuine surprise, obviously. 

Harry just grins as he opens up the first box, so pleased it's the meat lovers - Lou's favorite. He passes the box to his husband along with a stack of napkins. "Your favorite," he says simply, his eyes focused on Louis' reaction. And he's so glad, because otherwise, he would have completely missed the second or two of bright eyes and a quirk of the corner of his lips. But they're gone in an instant as Louis reaches out and takes a slice with both hands. 

Harry can't knock the grin off his lips as he pours them both another glass of wine before opening up his own box, the veggie-lovers, and settling down to devour it.

They eat in silence, eyes still watching the fire as Harry finishes off two slices and Louis devours three. When Louis closes his box and pushes it onto the coffee table, then leans back and sighs contentedly, Harry is all smiles. "Good?" He asks as he carries both boxes and their used napkins into the kitchen. 

"Hmmm," is Louis' response. 

Harry glances back at him to see he's now finished off his second glass of wine. So after putting the leftovers in the fridge and tossing the napkins, he grabs the second bottle of wine and brings it back. Then he fills Louis' glass once again. 

Louis is back to watching him with narrowed eyes, and that's nerve-wracking but at least he's looking at him, Harry thinks. One more glass and Louis will be yawning, so Harry pushes the coffee table out of the way and unrolls first one, then the other sleeping bag, laying them out side by side in front of the fireplace, the pillows at the head of each. 

Harry's acutely aware that Louis has been watching him do all of this as he sits in silence, sipping his wine. 

When Harry reaches for the overnight bag and starts to pull out their pj's, the movement of Louis nodding knowingly catches his eye. "What?" Harry asks his husband.

Louis smirks and finishes off his third glass. "I know what this is all about."

Harry smiles at him hopefully, his eyes wide and bright. "Yeah?" He asks with a lilt.

Louis' smirk grows. "Yeah." 

Harry stands their, both their pj's in his hands and waits, expectantly. But Louis says no more as he leans forward and tips more wine into his now empty glass. 

Harry doesn't mind. It's not like Louis is yelling. Or leaving. Or crying. It's good.

He holds out Louis' softest joggers and jumper to him. "Want to change for bed?"

Louis nods and sets his glass down before standing and taking the clothing from Harry. But instead of heading to the bathroom or something, he just undresses right there, in front of Harry. And Harry gets an eyeful. Doesn't even pretend to look away as Louis stares right back at him and gets all but naked, down to his pants, before shrugging into the jumper and pulling on the joggers. 

Before he knows it, Louis is completely changed and Harry hasn't budged, still standing there stupidly holding his own pj's in his hands. 

Louis sits back down on the couch and chuckles as he raises his glass to his lips again. He raises one perfect eyebrow at Harry. "You gonna stand there all night, bucko? Or you gonna change, too?"

Harry swallows and flushes again. He ducks his head and quickly changes, too, very aware that Louis is watching him just as fiercely as he'd been watching Louis. And Harry half expects Louis to attack him at any moment. But Louis doesn't, and Harry is dressed just as Louis speaks again. 

"You got that from the closet," Louis announces, motioning to his sleeping bag on the floor next to Harry's. 

Harry glances at it and then back at Lou, nodding his head slightly. "Yeah," he answers quietly. 

They stare at each other for a moment, Harry still standing, his hands fisting the hem of his jumper, as Louis gazes contemplatively back as he sips his wine. 

It's an eerie moment, Harry wondering what Louis is thinking: if he'll be mad, if he'll ignore it, and then...

"Sometimes I couldn't sleep in bed," Louis shrugs, breaking their gaze to look again at the fire. "Sometimes I needed to sleep somewhere else."

Harry swallows hard, not moving but to nod. 

Louis seems to take a deep breath, about to speak, but then thinks better of it, obviously, as he finishes off his fourth glass of wine. 

Harry leans over to refill it without a word- a tipsy Louis is an honest Louis. 

"So you saw..." Louis begins again a moment later. "You saw my shameful little hovel."

Harry nods again, eyes wide. Louis has never been ashamed to talk about emotions and feelings. Never. His openness and his vulnerability were both shocking and incredibly refreshing for Harry all those years ago. Louis' ability to be comfortable in his own skin with his own feelings is one huge reason Harry has been able to be, as well. 

Louis chuckles humorlessly. "Pretty pathetic, ain't it?" He whispers.

Harry drops to his knees and sits on his haunches. He wants to cross the few feet of space between where Lou is sitting on the couch and where Harry is kneeling on the rug. He doesn't. Not yet. 

"No, Lou," he argues gently. "It's not pathetic. It's..." and he has to swallow down a hiccup before going on. "It's heartbreaking."

Heartbreaking that Louis had missed Harry so much for the month they were apart that he'd taken to sleeping with Harry's childhood lovey, jumper, and their wedding photo. Heartbreaking that even after Harry had cheated, and when sleeping in their bed had been too much for Louis, he'd still needed the comfort of Harry in the form of reminders. 

Louis says nothing in reply, merely sips at his fifth glass of wine. 

Harry remains for several moments, waiting to see if Louis will go on. When he doesn't, Harry stands to retrieve his iPad from the bag he's packed. He takes a moment to sync it to his mum's sound system, and holds his breath in anticipation as he presses play.

At first, Lou doesn't seem to react. He just continues staring into the fire, his small hand cupping his wine glass. Harry can see the slight wine stain on Louis' perfect little lips. He knows from experience what those lips taste like right about now.

Three songs in, and Lou has still said nothing nor taken another drink. Harry has settled down on his sleeping bag, sitting applesauce style and facing Louis, watching him without staring. They need to talk. So badly. But Harry isn't sure how to get it going again. 

Then, unexpectedly, Louis is the first to breech the silence. "These are our songs," he says softly, eyes still trained on the flames. "Or, they were our songs," he amends with a bitter turn to his lips. 

Harry blanches. "They still are," he sputters with mild indignation. "They always will be."

Louis' eyes flash over to meet Harry's. "What's your song with Brian, then?" He spits. 

Harry winces. It hurts as much as if Louis had slapped him sharply across the mouth. "You're the only person I have songs with, Lou," he whispers once he recovers, staring solemnly back at Louis' blue blue eyes. "The only one."

Louis doesn't flinch, his glare unwavering. "I was the only one. I'm not anymore," he remarks with a dry, humorless laugh. "You made sure of that, didn't you? Fucked it all up pretty perfectly, wouldn't you say?"

Harry bites his lower lip, and it's raw and sore from how much he's been chewing on it lately. He can only nod in shame. 

Louis narrows his eyes before continuing. "You thought bringing me to your mum's for a sleepover would make it all just go away, yeah?" He chuckles.

And Harry hates the sound. This is a Louis he doesn't know or recognize. This is a Louis who hates Harry. 

"I didn't think it would make it all go away, Lou," Harry manages to argue, albeit weakly. "I'm just trying to show you that I love you. That I've always loved you. That I'll always love you."

If Harry was expecting his words to soften Louis' anger, he is sorely mistaken. Louis' gaze only sharpens, his jaw ticking just a bit to the left. 

"Did you love me then, baby?" Louis rasps darkly. "Did you love me when Brian had his lips wrapped around you?" Louis takes a quick swallow of his wine and then adds bitterly, "Is that what you were thinking about when you were trying not come in his mouth?"

Harry is shaking his head before Louis has even finished the sentence. "Louis, no, fuck no!" Harry buries his head in his hands briefly before rising to his knees to crawl toward Louis. 

But Louis shrinks back, pulling his feet from the floor and tucking them under his thighs, turning his face away from Harry. 

And Harry stops, still a foot or two from his boy. He tries again. "No, please. You have got to listen to me, Lou. Try to believe me; I wasn't thinking at all. I was out of my head. I barely remember anything before it... or even during..." He breaks off from that, sure, once again, that he's talking too much about the thing. "But yes, I still loved you then. And I still love you now. I don't love anyone but you. I never have."

He can only wait, hoping Louis heard him. Hoping Louis will believe him. If not today, then one day, at least. 

Louis sits in silence again, sipping his wine until the glass is empty. There's another bottle in the fridge, but Harry's had only one glass and he doesn't want Lou to be sick. 

"Talk to me, baby," Harry whispers, his hands pleading as he stares at the man he loves; the man he will never give up on. 

Louis winces at that. "Don't... please don't call me baby just now," Louis asks softly, and not at all unkindly. 

It still kills Harry to hear it, but he nods, apologizes. 

"I have to... I have to ask..." Louis starts, hesitant, his voice breaking.

Harry dares to crawl forward a few inches, the vulnerability in Louis' tone a welcome change from the hostility. "Ask, then, ba... Lou. You can ask me anything," Harry whispers in reply. 

Louis is fighting back tears, and Harry can see it. He wants so much to bridge the space between them; take Louis in his arms. So he does. With one quick move, he's pulled Louis off the couch, scooping his husband into his lap on the sleeping bag. 

And Louis doesn't fight it. Instead, he melts into Harry's arms, not holding him back, but at least turning into it, almost sighing as if in relief when Harry wraps his arms around his baby. 

Whatever it is, they can handle it together, Harry thinks. Louis is in his arms again. This is good. 

"Am I not enough anymore?" Are the five words Louis whispers brokenly into Harry's chest. They're the five words that crack open the door Louis has slammed shut between them. They're the five words that split open Harry's heart and spill every ounce of pride he has left right out into the miles of space from where they once were to where they are now. They're the five words Harry will never forget as long as he lives.


	6. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis finally shows Harry how he really feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one but thanks for your patience and such beautiful comments. This is not the end. There’s at least one more chapter coming. Stay tuned...

Harry feels the tears start to flow before he can even open his mouth to respond. "Lou, please, no," he begs, burying his face in the top of Louis' head, his lips brushing the beautiful brown hair he loves so much. "Of course you are." 

How can this be real, Harry wonders? How can this be what they've become? How can things have gone so far off the rails that he even has to utter these words? But he knows how. 

He feels Louis begin to tremble, so he automatically tightens his hold around him, brushing soft kisses along the crown of his head in between words. "Please don't say that. Ever. Of course you're enough. Of course you are."

Louis grips the front of Harry's jumper in both his small fists, his delicate fingers clenching tight as he shakes his head back and forth across Harry's chest. "What am I supposed to think, then? What can I believe?" 

Harry feels his boy take a shallow breath and can tell he's crying; feels it even if he can't see it. Louis' head is still bowed as he presses his stubbled cheek into the fabric of Harry's jumper. 

"You say it never happened before," Louis whispers. "Then why now? If that's the truth, why did it happen now unless... things have changed?" 

Louis is desperate to understand; Harry can hear it in his shaky voice. 

"Lou, please," Harry begs. "I promise it wasn't that anything had changed..." Harry tries to sooth, pressing his nose into the space behind Louis' ear, breathing him in, squeezing him tightly, so glad to be holding him again. 

Louis is shaking his head once again. "Something must have changed. It must have," he insists. 

Louis hiccups then, sniffling, and Harry wants so much to just wrap his boy up in his arms and rescue him from all of the pain. He knows he can't though; knows he's the reason for it.

Louis is trying to steady his voice, Harry can tell. "Ten years of us, Harry. Ten years and you'd have me believe this is the first and only time you've ever... that you ever..." but he breaks off, unable to say the words.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, unable to say them either. Unable to believe it, still, that he could be capable of doing such a thing. Hurting Louis so badly. Betraying their love. Breaking them apart. Ruining everything. 

Louis takes a deeper breath, his chest expanding next to Harry's. "Something had to have changed from then... to now." 

Louis turns and looks up at Harry, his beautiful blue eyes brimming with tear after tear. This is closer than they've been in more than a month; Louis' face only inches away from Harry's. All Harry can see is the way the firelight seems to dance in his husband's heartbroken eyes. The way his beautiful cheekbones are more prominent than they've ever been, deep shadows beneath them from a month of eating poorly and hardly sleeping. The way his skin is more pale and thinner looking than it should be. 

"Please," Louis whispers, tipping his face up to Harry's, his gaze piercing as he bares his pain open and exposed for Harry to see it and feel it all. "Please tell me what changed."

Harry's heart is never going to beat the way it used to again. It's a miracle it still pumps blood through his veins at all. It's a miracle he's still living when Louis looks at him like this. It's a miracle those blue eyes haven't killed him. How can he even begin to explain what he had been feeling, when it's really just a list of what's wrong with him?

"Lou," Harry chokes out, his voice incapable of clear speech when Louis looks like this in his arms, as though the only thing keeping his body together is Harry's hold on him. "Nothing about you changed," he tries to explain, his heart a shambles. If he doesn't have the right words, then he'll just dive in and give Louis all the words; all the thoughts; anything. "You're just as wonderful, and loving, and kind, and sexy, and funny, and handsome, and a million other things... just as much as you were the day I first met you. More so, even." 

Harry has to take a breath, because Louis' gaze hasn't wavered; he's hanging on Harry's every word, those piercing blue eyes a spotlight on Harry. It's a spotlight that burns but Harry deserves the pain. 

"I'm a selfish person," he continues, struggling to meet Louis' gaze when he's feeling so ashamed. "I like attention. You know that. I like feeling pretty... interesting... important. I like when people like me. It's a terrible quality to have. It's something I'm going to work on, because your attention is the only attention that really matters to me."

Louis' gaze drops at that, and Harry feels Louis' fists loosen from his jumper a bit. Harry knows it's not the answer Louis needed to hear.

So Harry presses his palms into Louis' back, trying to get him to look up again. "It's all that's ever really mattered to me. I swear to you," he tries to reassure. When Louis doesn't look back up, Harry presses his cheek into the back of Louis' head and pulls him closer. "That's why I think I was even out that night. Your attention wasn't on me, and I missed it. I missed you."

Harry feels Louis stiffen slightly in his arms. "I was at home..." he begins to argue. "Our home..."

Harry nods, sure he's soaking the back of Louis' head with his tears. "I know... I know that. It doesn't even make sense to me, now. I told you... I'm selfish and I was a complete fool and I'm going to do better, Lou..."

But Louis is shaking his head again. Harry has to lean back to look at him properly as he turns to face Harry again. "No, see, that can't be all there is to it. Because that's nothing new, see. Me being at home while you go to a party is nothing new and you know it. You've done it dozens of times before."

Harry's nodding, in total agreement. "You're right. And it shouldn't have been like that. I shouldn't have ever done that, Lou. I shouldn't ever have gone out without you..."

Louis straightens his shoulders and glares at Harry. "Really? That's you're answer? You think I'm some kind of asshole who doesn't want you leaving the house without me? You think you can't have friends, now? You think I have to watch every fucking move you make? If that's you're answer to this, then you don't know one fucking thing about me," Louis finishes, eyes blazing and voice taking on an edge.

Harry's shaking his head, though, eyes wide. "No, no, Lou. No! That's not what I mean." He takes a deep breath, scared of losing this moment, this moment that seems huge and momentous and so so vital to the next step in if they can fix this ever. He tries again. "Please, no, listen. I mean, I should never have gone to parties just for the attention. I shouldn't be doing that period. Cause that's what I used to do. A lot. And that's what I was doing that night."

Louis' eyes widen a little at that admission, and Harry feels his stomach twist. It's such a shameful thing to say. He sounds so narcissistic. So selfish. So immature and just so... not good enough. 

"I'm not proud of it, Lou, but I did it. And I'm not going to do it anymore."

Harry can only sit and watch as a range of emotions seem to battle for control across Louis' face. There's anger there, and jealousy, for sure, Harry recognizes. But then a sort of understanding is the expression Louis wears when those blue eyes finally meet Harry's green ones once more. 

"I think maybe I knew that... sort of. I knew you liked the show. I... I just thought it made you happy, so... I never worried..." and Louis' face contorts as he adds weakly, "Before."

Before. Before the thing.

Harry brushes his fingers along Louis' spine and presses a tentative kiss to Louis' temple. "It never made me happy," he admits quietly. "It was basically a placebo for your attention." Then he grimaces, fearful it sounds like he's blaming Louis again. "I'm sorry. I'm ridiculous. You're the only person who matters to me."

Louis takes another slow breath, his chest rattling as a few more tears fall from his cheeks and Harry wants to brush them away, but doesn't. 

"So you felt like I wasn't giving you enough attention?" Louis asks, voice on the tipping point between pained and pissed off. 

Harry shakes his head. "You give me a lot of attention, Lou. Plenty. The problem is me. I told you; I was being selfish."

Louis bites his lip and considers Harry, eyes doubtful. "See, if we go with that theory, then it could happen again."

"No," Harry cuts Louis off firmly. "Not ever. I'm never going to put myself in that position again."

Louis rolls his eyes. "You're never going to a party without me again? We're back to that?"

"No, listen. That was only part of it," And Harry takes a breath. It's time. He holds up a finger to Louis and then, hating to do it, gently eases him off his lap, then crawls over to the duffel bag. He slips the Manila envelope out of the side pocket before turning back to where Louis is now sitting, watching Harry's every move with a cautious expression. He crawls back over, wishing he could pull Louis back into his lap, but settles for sitting cross-legged, face to face, and he hands Louis the Manila envelope.

Louis takes the envelope with clear trepidation, his slim fingers trembling, but opening it nonetheless, and pulling out Harry's test results, his brow furrowed. 

"I'm not going to use anymore, Lou," Harry explains carefully, not sure Louis can read the piece of paper clearly in the firelight. "I know you've never much liked it, anyway. But..." he takes the first page from Lou and points at the tox screen. "Since that's part of why it... it even happened, I'm never doing it again. I'm..." and he feels the tears flowing again. "I'm never going to risk losing control like that ever again. Not ever."

Louis takes the paper back from Harry, his blue eyes glancing back and forth from the page to Harry several times, his expression inscrutable. 

Harry watches as Louis reads what appears to be every line of the first page of the contents. Then, slowly, his eyes narrowed, he meets Harry's gaze. "You're serious? You're not even gonna smoke?"

Harry shakes his head resolutely. He'd made this decision approximately two hours after Louis had kicked him out about a month ago. He'd known in his heart that he would never have been in such a state if not for the drugs. He'd felt sick at the very idea of lighting up since. 

"It wasn't a tough decision, Lou," he says quietly. "You're more important than anything else."

Harry can see the effect his words, and this act, have on his husband. 

Louis' eyes are filling with tears again, too. "So, this test...," Louis sputters.

Harry is nodding, already sure what Louis is asking. He points at the date at the bottom of the page. "I had the test just a couple days before you called and told me you wanted to talk. I brought it because I wanted you to see."

"I don't want you to stop being who you are for me," Louis mumbles, his expression now confused and unsure. 

Harry just shakes his head and smiles at his boy. These words float out of him like air. They're so easy to say because they're just so true. "I'm only really me when I'm with you, Lou. Everything really good that's ever happened to me has been with you... because of you."

Louis is biting his lower lip in that adorable way that always makes Harry's heart flip, but he doesn't say anything as he stares at the first page. 

Harry loves this moment. He wants to capture it forever. Wants to keep it safe and warm in his heart. It's only made more fleeting though, because he knows what comes next, and it's only seconds away. It won't go well, he knows that. It won't make Louis bite his lip adorably. 

Sure enough, Louis pulls the first page with the tox screen to the side, and views the second page of the contents of the Manila envelope.

The change is immediate. Harry clocks the second it dawns on Louis what he's looking at now. Harry steels himself. This is necessary. This is important. 

Louis' anger is instantaneous. He seems to internally explode. Fires rage and burn behind his eyes as they dart from the page to Harry. 

Harry doesn't give Louis a chance to shout. "I wanted to make sure, Lou. I owed you that," he says in a rush. He was going for calm and mature, but hears the fear in his own voice, quivering in the face of the storm that is Louis' rage. 

Louis' eyes blaze as they flick back down to the paper, his knuckles white as he grips it so tightly the page crinkles and spreads, nearly splitting. 

"There was no way I was going to put you at risk, ba... Lou," Harry explains, his voice higher now, pleading. "You're too important. You mean everything..."

"Please," Louis cuts Harry off, his voice so strange. 

It's so scary it makes the fear reach into Harry's heart and seize it. 

"Just... shut up for a minute," Louis whispers, his hands now trembling, the paper in his fists whispering as it shakes in his grasp. 

Harry does shut up, fisting the hem of his jumper with one hand as he brushes his hair back with the other and waits. He can't meet Louis' eyes right now, the sheer shame of what it means, that piece of paper in Louis' hands... he had to do it; he had no choice. It was the right thing to do, he is certain. 

"So..." Louis tries, and his voice is as thin and strained as the paper in his fists, seconds from ripping apart completely. 

Harry grits his teeth, shuts his eyes, but listens. Listens.

"You got tested?" Louis' voice ticks up an octave on the word. 

Harry nods, because what else is there to do?

"I thought you said he only had his mouth on you... but you're saying you...?"

Harry's head jerks up, his eyes huge again. "No! No, Lou. It was just like I told you. God!" He leans forward, arms outstretched to... he doesn't even know what. Hold Louis? Pull him into his lap? 

But Louis lurches backward at the movement, dropping the paper like it has caught fire as he escapes from Harry's grasp to sit on his own sleeping bag. He's staring at Harry like Harry's just grown horns. He's drawn his knees to his chest like he used to when he'd get so stressed out. 

Harry grabs the paper in one hand but makes a calming motion to Louis with the other. "Please, Lou... listen to me."

It doesn't look like Louis is capable of listening at the moment. "You let him fuck you?" Louis almost shrieks at Harry. "Or did you fuck him?"

"NO!" Harry shouts, really raising his voice for the first time since all of this began. "No, Lou, jesus. Just hear me out! It was just like I said. It lasted seconds at most. But regardless, you can still get STD's from someone's mouth. And I just... I couldn't risk that..."

Louis is laughing now, almost hysterically. He's shaking and he's laughing and his eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that Harry is sure he's trying to blank out reality. 

"Baby, please," Harry begs, laying the offending paper to the side for the moment and crawling toward Louis. He pauses. He isn't suppose to call Louis baby just now, he remembers, but... but it's too late now. "I had to get tested because if there was even the tiniest chance that you'd ever forgive me..."

Louis leaps to his feet so suddenly Harry jumps back in surprise, landing on his butt on the rug. He sometimes forgets how athletic Lou is; how spry. 

"I don't forgive you!" Louis rasps, his fists tight little balls at his sides, his eyes squeezed shut again. "I don't. I don't think I ever will. Or can. I don't even know how to!" He is still shaking, and Harry is breaking. 

"I know," Harry tries, his tears springing up again.

"No!" Louis shouts, finally opening his eyes to glare at Harry again. "No, you don't know! You never will know! So quit saying it! Just SHUT-UP!"

Harry is nodding, pressing his fingertips to his lips to silence himself, to try and show he's listening; he's trying. 

Louis is still talking. "You'll never know what it's like to think... to believe... that the person you love loves you back... that you can trust them... for years... and then suddenly find out it's all a lie!"

Harry sobs, bowing his head, shaking it in mute argument, but he doesn't speak. Louis told him to shut-up, so he is.

"You'll never understand how it feels, Harry! You can't understand it, because I didn't do it to you! You did it to me! So you don't get to sit there and tell me you know. You don't! Don't ever! Because you have no idea!"

Harry is nodding now, willing himself to look up at his boy again. He can't know, of course. And he just wishes Louis would go on... let it all out. Shout at him for days. Call him every single name he's calling himself in his head. Probably new ones Harry's never even heard of... Louis has quite the imaginative vocabulary. 

"You can't even imagine it, I'll bet..." Louis is hissing, some of his volume gone as he gets going. "What a complete and utter fool you've made of me..." 

And fuck, Harry is back to wishing himself dead. If anyone ever deserves to believe in themself, it's his Lou. So beautiful, so fun, so smart and talented, so fucking hot and athletic, so generous and funny... and Harry's gone and made him feel like a fool.

"I wish you knew..." Louis says, pressing his fingertips to his temples as a few tears slide down his adorable nose.

"Tell me, then," Harry pleads, rising to his knees and staring up at his husband. "Tell me all of it."

That effectively silences Louis. His jaw sort of drops a bit as he stares down at Harry, his eyes considering. "Tell you what?" He finally asks, dubious. 

Harry swallows, fully aware that what he's asking for might actually be more than he can bear. But he'll bear it. He absolutely will if it will help Louis at all. "Tell me how you feel. How you felt. What I did. Tell me all of it."

Louis is still frozen, staring back at Harry, the wheels in his head obviously turning. "You want me to..." he whispers, voice unsteady. Then he sighs. "I wouldn't even know where to start," he huffs, brushing a hand through his hair. 

"Then start with what you just said," Harry whispers. "How I... how I made you feel like a fool." The words cut gashes into Harry's tongue to say them, stabbing great aching wounds along his gums, slashing into his lips. "I want to know."

Louis crumples to the floor again, kneeling on his sleeping bag, his back to the fire. Harry can't help but focus on Louis' hands; such gentle hands that have touched Harry with reverence countless times. Such loving hands that have held Harry tenderly thousands upon thousands of times, now lay limp and empty where they rest on either side of Louis' knees. 

For awhile they sit there in silence, the flames in the fireplace still crackling in the background. Harry watching Louis; Louis watching the floor. Then, finally, so slowly, Louis begins to speak.

"I called Lottie," he says, his voice barely audible, so weak... so strained. It cuts. "She thought I was putting her on, at first. Thought is was some right awful joke. Told me I ought to burn in hell for even teasing about something... something like that..."

Harry holds in a sob, imagining it. Imagining his Lou having to explain to his little sister that it wasn't a joke;that Harry had cheated. 

Louis' left hand has started mindlessly tracing one of the seams of his sleeping bag. "She still thought it was some sort of misunderstanding for days." Then Louis laughs a dry little snort. "Probly cause it took me days to be able to tell her what you did. She turned up and... I musta looked a sight cuz she took one look at me and told me to call a lawyer." 

Harry's breath catches. He'd considered it before, when he'd been out of his mind in the hotel room, playing out all the worst-case scenarios in his head since Louis wouldn't pick up the phone or respond to voice messages or texts for weeks. He'd wondered if Lou would just file for divorce. Had he?

Louis is still gently fingering the stitching of the sleeping bag that he'd slept in for what had probably been many nights. "She didn't understand..." Louis adds quietly. "She just thought I should let you go."

Harry buries his head in his hands, unable to hold back this sob. Can't. Can't be. Can't. His brain fritzes out. 

"You know what I was doing the night you were out there with him?" Louis asks, his tone almost light and airy. 

Harry can't look up though, he's just trying to keep it together. So he shakes his head in response, his shoulders slumped as he wipes his soaked face on his own sleeve. 

"Writing. I was just writing. That's why I didn't want to go out with you. I was on a high. Had all these ideas," Louis explains softly. Then he laughs, almost a real one, almost with that tinkling to it that Harry loves so much. "Was excited, honestly. Had so many good ideas I couldn't wait to put down... couldn't wait to show 'em to ya."

Harry buries his face in his arms, at that, his own knees pulled to his chest now, imagining it. Imagining a hyped-up Louis just off the walls to share his new songs with his best friend... his husband. Hyper Louis is one of Harry's favorite Louis'. And he missed it. He missed it because he is a total fuck up. 

"Then you turn up," Louis continues, voice still light but strained, a bit detached sounding. "You turn up and you're so white you looked like a zombie. I thought you'd been in an accident."

Harry remembers. He'd cried the whole ride home, taking an Uber because he was too out of it to drive and too ashamed to call one of the lads. He'd pulled his hat low and his collar high in the hopes he wouldn't be recognized. And he'd stumbled into the door to find Louis on the couch, his laptop still open on the coffee table, his grin massive. Harry remembers the moment that grin fell; the moment Louis had jumped to his feet in worry at the sight of Harry. And Harry remembers the moment the life they'd shared had effectively ended. 

"You were right blubbering," Louis goes on. "I was sick with worry cause I'd never seen you like that before."

Oh the guilt Harry feels. So much guilt and shame in being reminded of how Louis had tried to hold him. How Louis had tried to get him a glass of water. How Louis had gone almost hysterical, begging Harry to tell him what was wrong. 

"Then..." Louis' voice trembles, "Then when I finally got you to make sense..." He pauses to take a deep breath. "Then you tell me..."

Harry had told Louis the truth. He'd told Louis that he'd been off his head, that he'd accidentally let someone else touch him. That he'd accidentally let someone else go down on him. 

"Accidentally," Louis huffs out a laugh. "And I remember thinking: 'How dumb of a stupid mother fucker does this boy think I am, that I'd believe anyone could ever let someone go down on them accidentally.'"

Harry sits up a little straighter, finally pulling his arms away from his face to look at Louis. He's surprised to find that Louis is looking right at him. 

"I think back on it, you know?" Louis whispers, blue eyes cutting. "I think back and I'm wondering if maybe you hadn't used the word accidentally... if that would have made any difference? Cause, that's just a dumb fucking word to use for something like that, don't you think?"

It's not a rhetorical question, clearly, because Louis is waiting for Harry to answer. 

"Yeah," Harry replies shakily. "Yeah it's a dumb fucking word to use for something like that," he agrees easily, his voice quiet. But it had still been the truth when he'd said it; the utter and complete truth.

Louis nods and almost smiles at Harry's response of agreement. "That set me off, that. Like, for you to use that word, like some fucking kind of excuse..." 

Harry reflects then. It had been the truth, he was sure. But now, well... maybe Louis was right. Maybe Harry had been using it as an excuse. 

"I'm sorry Lou," He breathes. "I'm so sorry."

Louis nods again. "I don't care how you'd said it. I'm sure I'd have thrown you out anyway. No good way to tell someone who adores you that you're not enough."

Harry blurts out before he can think it through. "Fuck, Lou, that's not it! I'm begging you to believe me! You're always enough. Always!"

"Wasn't that night. Wasn't once, at least. Can't change that now, Harry."

Harry can't breathe. He's not had an attack in a long while, but he can't breathe all of a sudden, lungs tight, chest aching. It's not his asthma, though; it's Louis' words. 

"You can't believe that, Lou," he coughs out, desperate to fight Louis' words, to fight the skewed view of things that Louis has had time to make up in his head. That's Harry's fault, because he wasn't fighting that view hard enough. "I won't let you, cause it's not true. It's not that you weren't enough... it's that I'm not!" 

Harry can't keep it together any longer. He doesn't even try. He crawls forward, still kneeling before Louis. He laces his fingers together and presses them to his chin as he bows his head, prostrate before the man he loves. 

"You're everything to me, Lou," he whispers through tears that he can't believe he still has gallons of to shed. "You're so good, Lou. So wonderful. You've always been so good... to me, to your family, to your friends, to total strangers. You've always got everyone else on your mind... always thinking of others first. I'm not. I don't. I'm always thinking of me. I was that night. I was thinking about how much I missed you. How long it had been since I'd had you to myself. I was thinking about how you didn't seem to want me as much lately. I was thinking about getting attention and making myself feel better. That's what happened. That's what I can't change. That's what ruined us. Not you, Lou. Me."

Harry's vision is blurry, not just from the tears; he feels like he could pass out any moment, and he doesn't fucking care.

"You deserve better, Lou. Better than me. Better than I've given you. Better than I've done. You deserve someone as thoughtful and giving and loving as you are. And that's not been me." Harry is blubbering, finally trying to look up and see his Lou through the buckets of tears between them. "And I want to do better... I want to be better for you... to you. But I'm not, and I guess I can't be because here I am, still thinking of me. Still begging you to keep me around. Still willing to do anything just to stay with you because I know I can't live without you." 

Harry has no dignity left, and he's just fine with that. He stopped caring about that the moment he realized he'd broken Louis' heart.

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and drags them down his cheeks, trying to clear his vision at least momentarily. He just wants to look at his boy. If this is it, if this is the last chance he has to tell him how much he means, he wants to be able to see his face. 

"I'm never going to be able to fix this, Lou. I know that. I can't take it back. I can't change it. I've ruined everything. I know it. I wish I..." but he stops. He promised Gemma he wouldn't say it again. "I love you more than anything, Lou. I don't deserve you. I never did. I don't now. I... I think about how perfect I had it and... and I hate myself. I can't forgive myself. There's no way I can every make this up to you. No way I can ever show you how much I regret..."

Louis drops to his knees before Harry. They're face to face again; knee to knee. Harry's voice catches and he can't seem to finish what he was saying when he's staring directly into Louis' beautiful eyes, as full of pain as Harry's. 

Harry blinks. Swallows. Wipes his upper lip with his sleeve. Louis doesn't break the eye contact. 

"Lou," Harry tries again, voice trembling. "I never wanted anyone but you. I never did. I never have. I'm the fool, not you. I'm the ridiculous loser who never felt good enough. I'm the one there's something wrong with. Not you. Never you."

Louis moves then, his arms still limp at his sides as he leans forward a few inches until his forehead is pressing against Harry's. 

Somehow, that small move is like the sun cresting over the mountains at dawn. Harry is mildly aware he might be frightened of the sounds he's making if he cared about himself anymore. He's wailing. And he thinks that he was once a man, but he's not anymore. He's nothing more now than a bundle of memories that are broken and aching and the bit of skin above his eyes that's blessed to be touching the skin of the person he thinks he's lost forever.

"I'm so sorry," he says over and over again. "I'm nothing... I'm yours. Just yours." 

Life doesn't really matter, now. Not really. Not if this is the end. Not if Louis... can't.

"Shhh," Harry seems to hear Louis whispering to him. "Shhh, Harry," he's saying. "Just stop."

Harry can't stop, probably, though. He won't ever be able to stop if this is the end.

"Shhhh," Louis says a little louder now. "Don't."

So Harry tries. If Louis needs him to do something, he'll do it. He takes a few breaths, hugs himself with his arms because Louis is still not touching him but at the forehead. But Harry won't lean away. He'll be damned before he breaks that little bit of contact Louis initiated. 

"I'm sorry," he finally manages to apologize. "See, there I go... making it about me yet again."

Louis sighs in reply, but says nothing more as he sits back, settling back on his beautiful arse and sitting cross-legged to face Harry.

Harry matches Louis' movement and reaches for the paper, unsure of what else to do. 

Louis eyes the paper, frowning. "So... what does it say?" He finally asks. 

Harry frowns back. "I'm clean, Lou. I'd have never let you touch me yesterday if I weren't."

Louis doesn't look relieved. His expression doesn't seem to change one bit. He does glance at his watch though, then says in monotone, "Day before yesterday. It's half one already."

Harry nods. That's likely Louis effectively saying it's time to sleep. He folds the papers up and slips them back in the Manila envelope, sniffing and trying to calm his racing heart. 

Louis crawls inside his sleeping bag, then, plumping up his pillow and proving Harry was right; Lou wants to go to bed. 

Harry tries to be ok with it as he crawls in his sleeping bag, too. It's probably good, he tries to tell himself. They talked. That's a good thing. 

They lay there in silence, Harry staring up at his mum's living room ceiling as he tries not to feel like the world is ending.

After awhile, Louis rolls over, facing him. Harry risks a glance to see if Louis is looking at him. He is. 

"What was tonight really about, H?" Louis asks gently. "Your mums. The sleeping bags. The pizza."

Harry sniffs and rolls to face Louis, too. "I was trying to redo our first sleepover. You know. Before boot camp."

Louis' face scrunches up in confusion. "Why?"

Harry takes a quivering breath before replying. "Because that's when you became my best friend. I just wanted to remind you that it was real."

Those words seemed to have an effect on Louis. His face contorts - looking a bit like he does when he runs into the coffee table at home with his shin . But then he opens his eyes and Harry sees they're shining.

"Yeah? That's when it happened for you?" He asks.

Harry nods, nudging Louis' foot with his foot, their sleeping bags softening it to barely a brush. "Yeah. Obviously. The minute you stuffed your face with the last piece of pizza so Niall couldn't have it."

Louis chuckles at that, his gorgeous face breaking into the first genuine smile Harry's seen on him in more than a month. And Harry kind of hopes if he is going to die from this, it's right then. Right after seeing Louis' perfect sunshine smile. 

But he doesn't die, of course. Instead, Louis nudges Harry's foot back with his own. "Had to show the Irishman that Donny lads can hold their own," he says like it's obvious.

"Of course," Harry agrees, a weak smile threatening to break across his own face.

They lay in silence for awhile, Harry unsure where they stand, but too scared to ask. He keeps thinking over and over again about how Louis had pressed his forehead to Harry's when Harry was seconds from losing his mind. That's just Lou. He always thinks of others first. He has always comforted Harry, even in the face of his own pain. It's not fair. Louis deserves more. He deserves better. 

"Lou?" Harry whispers, voice cracking. He's so scared. Of rejection. Of the end. Of Louis' hate. But... Louis deserves better. 

"Hmmm?" Is the only response Harry gets. Louis has closed his eyes. He's probably trying to sleep. 

"Would you... can I... hold you?"

Louis opens his beautiful blue eyes at that. 

Harry holds his breath. 

And then... Louis nods. 

Harry bites back a sob and reaches out, pulling his boy to his chest before he can change his mind, tucking his own head over Lou's, and squeezing him as tight as he dares. 

"I love you so much, Lou," Harry whispers, pressing soft kisses to the crown of Louis' head.

Harry hears Lou sniff a couple of times, and then gradually, he feels Louis' hands snake up to fist at Harry's shirt.

Warmth. Love. Hope. Fear. Harry is a mess of emotion. But he's holding Louis again... really holding him. And it just feels so good. He's got to figure out how to make this right again. He's got to.

They lay like that for awhile, and Harry is certain Louis is going to fall asleep, but he never does. His beautiful face is pressed against Harry's chest, his soft breaths coming in little puffs across Harry's shoulder and Harry is just breathing him in and trying to make the moment last and last. All the while, though, Harry is becoming more and more certain of something - he can't make this right on his own; he needs help.

Finally, Louis stirs a bit, readjusting, his strong legs slipping between Harry's just at the ankles, and Harry grins at the additional contact Louis has initiated. 

"Still awake?" Harry whispers gently down to his boy, wrapped so tightly in his arms... where he belongs. Always. 

"Mmm," Lou responds, squeezing Harry's jumper in his fists. 

"Lou, can I ask you one thing?" And god, Harry hopes Louis is willing. 

Louis tenses in Harry's arms, but he nods just a bit in reply. And Harry hates how nervous Louis is now about everything Harry says and does. He hates it, but he knows it's his fault.

"Just..." Harry begins, his voice shaky, betraying his fear. "I was wondering if... if you'd be willing to maybe go see a couples therapist? You and me?"

Louis leans back to look up at Harry.

Harry tips his head down to look at Louis. "Only if you're ok with it, Lou..."

But Louis' eyes are almost... pleased.

"Yeah," Lou replies before tucking his head down into Harry's chest again and closing his eyes, the tension gone from his body.

Harry blinks back quick tears of relief and joy. Louis is trying, too. Louis still loves him.


	7. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis try to understand each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this little tale, folks. Thanks so much for sticking around for it. I just want to add that as a writer, I love the writing. It’s my favorite part. But all of you who have taken the time to read this, and to let me know how it makes you feel, well... you’ve made the fact that the writing part of this piece is over a little less painful. Thank you, all of you.

It took Harry seven full days to find a therapist and get them an appointment. He had called in every favor, poured his heart into researching, until he found a professional who might be able to help them. He had a goal: get Louis to trust him again. Anyone who could help him achieve that, well, he'd throw every ounce of cash he could get his hands on at them.

The week between when Lou had agreed to a counselor and the actual appointment weren't smooth sailing. Their days ping-ponged from Lou avoiding Harry and their home completely, to circling gently around each other with a sort of quiet pretense that things were back to normal. But normal they were not. Louis and his moods were understandably unpredictable. Some mornings Harry would wake up to Louis wrapped around him like a corkscrew, soft hair buried in Harry's neck. Those mornings, Harry tried to lay completely still, prolonging the cuddles as long as possible. But the moment Lou was awake, he was up and pretending it hadn't happened. Other mornings, Louis was gone before morning had dawned and didn't come home until Harry was under the covers in his PJ's, trying not to worry about where his boy was. 

It felt to Harry a bit like the seven days between his attempt at the sleepover redo and their counseling appointment were a tenuous agreement between them: Louis wasn't giving up yet, and of course, neither was Harry. But Harry had the distinct sense that a lot was riding on this appointment. 

When the day of their first scheduled session finally arrived, Harry was on pins and needles, tiptoeing around his boy all morning to avoid any unnecessary confrontation. Lou was uncharacteristically quiet and reserved. Harry drove and Louis rode in silence, the weather as gloomy as Louis' apparent mood. They waited in the private waiting room in silence, too, sitting beside one another on a plush couch, but miles apart. Harry couldn't stop wondering what was going through Louis' mind, his eyes constantly pulled back to where Louis' leg was jiggling nervously. 

When their therapist greeted them, Harry was surprised to find she was a young woman. Her credentials had made her sound decades older than them both, and Harry had pictured a grandmotherly type with thick glasses and white hair. He tried not to look as caught off guard as he felt as they shook hands and followed her into her office.

"Well, Louis, Harry, welcome," she said with a warm smile, as they settled at either ends of a gray couch and she crossed her legs from her chair across from them. 

Louis reflected back a smile at her, but Harry could tell it didn't reach his eyes. He wondered briefly if it got to marriage counselors, this sort of tableau of two people, desperately unhappy, laying it all at their feet in the hopes that they could fix what went wrong. But how much sense did that make? That the two people actually involved couldn't fix it on their own?

"So, tell me how I can help?" She asked kindly.

Louis turned to look at Harry expectantly. Harry could imagine Louis wanted to say something like, "Ok bucko, this is your party. Get it rolling."

Harry cleared his throat. They had two hours scheduled with her. He was not going to waste time, no matter how embarrassing it was for him. "I cheated on Louis," he heard himself say. He would never get used to how it sounded. How it was. What he'd done. It just wasn't who he was. Who they were.

Their therapist nodded, not frowning or smiling now. Just... accepting. And she was looking at Harry, waiting. Because there was obviously more. 

Harry did have more to say, of course. "I love him more than anything," he said quietly, but firmly. He hadn't practiced this. Maybe he should have. "I want to fix it. I want him to believe that I didn't mean it. That I don't want anyone else. That I want to be with him and only him. I want to make this work... again."

She was nodding still, but had slowly turned to look at Louis. It was his turn.

"And you, Louis?" She addressed him directly. "How can I help you?"

Harry turned to look at Louis, who seemed to be struggling with what he wanted to say. Or maybe just how to say it. Harry watched as Louis cocked his head as he often did when he was perturbed. 

"Dunno," Lou finally replied, rubbing his palms along the top of his thighs nervously. He cleared his throat. Then, "Suppose I want to understand... better... Why."

Harry took a deep breath and pressed his fingertips together. Hadn't he explained it all already? Several times. Drugs. Alcohol. Narcissism. Selfishness. Stupidity. It was pretty cut and dry, why; Harry was complete shit. 

But their therapist was nodding as though this was all perfectly understandable and not depressing as hell.

"Ok," she said with a slight smile that Harry figured was meant to be reassuring. "Let's start with the simple things." She turned to look at Harry again. "Harry, why do you want this to work out? Why do you want to fix this?"

And Harry jerked in shock. "Because I love him," he blurted stupidly. I mean, obviously. 

She smiled again. "Sure. But love doesn't necessarily mean you should stay married. I know plenty of couples who have chosen to separate because they love each other."

Harry blanched. It was much too close to what he'd feared and confessed to Gemma. But he knew if he simply replied with, "I can't live without him," she would press. He dug deeper. Bit his lip. "I want to fix it because he's my best friend and my life with him is the best life I can imagine. He makes me happy. He's home."

Louis seemed to squirm in his seat and Harry glanced at him. But Lou wasn't meeting his eyes. Instead, they were focused on the carpet beneath his Vans. 

"Louis? What do you think about Harry's reasons?" The therapist voiced what Harry was wondering. 

Louis adjusted in his seat again, sitting up straighter. Harry couldn't look away, even if Lou wouldn't look back at him.  
"S'pose I agree," Lou said quietly. 

"You agree? With what?" She prodded. 

Louis sighed, drew in a deep breath. "He's my best friend, too. He's the best life I can imagine. He makes me happy and all that."

And fuck, Harry was ready to pay the therapist his entire earnings the past five years just for those words. Thank God, Thank God, echoed in his poor brain over and over. 

"Good, good!" Their therapist replied, smiling and nodding more than she had yet. "Great news, fellas. That's something to work with right there."

And Harry was nodding and smiling a bit back at her. Yes. Good. So good. 

"Now, Louis," she continued. "You said you wanted to understand why Harry was unfaithful. But do you want to fix the relationship? Harry has said he does. Do you?"

Fuck. Harry should have known it wasn't going to be this easy. He is focused on Louis now - staring the side of his face down. They're not ten minutes in to their first marriage counseling session and here's where he could find out it may be their only. 

Louis titters in his seat, not answering for an eternity. And in that eternity, Harry lives and dies. Here is where his life ends or begins again. This is the moment where he becomes a new man or becomes no one. 

"Yeah," Louis says finally, nodding almost imperceptibly. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Harry starts to cry, sniveling like a baby.

Louis reaches over and pats Harry on the knee. 

Their therapist nods and smiles. "Good, good!"

Good. Good, Harry's poor brain echoes. This is going to be good.

They drive home in silence two hours later, Louis leaning against the passenger door, his cheek pressed against the glass of the window. They're both exhausted. Spent. 

Harry's brain keeps occupied replaying key pieces of their session.

Therapist: Harry, have you cut off contact with the other person?

Harry: Yes. Absolutely. I never even had any of his contact info.

Therapist: Ok. Louis, do you feel confident that Harry won't do this again?

Louis: No. I was confident he'd never do it in the first place. 

Harry pulls into their driveway just as a few raindrops start to fall. They both rush inside before the torrents begin, Harry tucking Louis under his jacket as they shuffle up the stairs together. 

Therapist: Louis, do you feel like Harry has taken responsibility for his actions?

Louis: I s'pose. He says... he says he came straight home and told me right away. He says he's told me everything there is to tell. He seems like he's being honest. He seems like he's trying to make it... to fix it. 

Therapist: Do you think that's possible? To fix it?

Louis: ... I don't know. I want it to be...

They have a quiet dinner at the table. Harry made a quick salad and they have some leftover ciabatta with a glass of wine for Harry and an ale for Lou. 

Therapist: Harry, why do you think you let things go too far this time? Do you really think it was just the weed and the drinks? Or was it something else, too?

Harry: ... I was feeling a little unwanted. I'm sorry, Lou! I'm not blaming you. At all! But... it had been awhile since we'd... and I think I was feeling a little unwanted... unattractive. 

Louis: That's insane. I mean, what the fuck? It can't have been that long...

Harry: Two months, Lou. The last time was when we were in Cabo. 

Louis: Jesus, you know how busy things have been... does that mean if we don't fuck every other day you'll find someone else to do it with?

Harry: Lou, god, no! 

Lou watches a footie match and drinks another ale while Harry writes for a bit. He's feeling very emotional and wants to get it out somewhere. 

Therapist: So you two haven't been intimate in more than two months?

Harry: Well... not exactly.

Therapist: What does that mean? 

Louis: He means I gave him head a few times last week. 

Harry: Jesus, Lou!

Louis: What? She asked.

Therapist: Ok. So that's a little unusual considering what you've told me. How do you two feel about that?

Harry: ... It was... strange. Not bad, Lou! Just... a bit strange.

Therapist: Can you elaborate Harry?

Harry: ... I was surprised... each time... considering. But I think I know why he wanted to...

Louis: For fuck's sake, I wanted to cause I wanted to. It's not rocket science.

Therapist: Ok but let's hear Harry out, Louis. Harry, why do you think Louis wanted to do that?

Harry: ... I think he wanted to like... redo it. With me. Sort of erase what I'd done with... someone else. 

Therapist: Louis? What do you think about Harry's theory?

Louis: ... Yeah... Maybe. Maybe that was partly it. 

When it's obvious that Louis is going to spend the better part of the night wrapped up in the game, Harry slips into the shower and gets ready for bed. 

Therapist: So Louis, how do you feel about Harry's promise to stop partaking and to stop going to parties for the attention?

Louis: It's a nice sentiment.

Harry: You don't think I'm being sincere, Lou?

Louis: Harry, you like doing shrooms more than the Grateful Dead. 

Harry: I liked them. I don't anymore. 

Louis: Yeah, ok Haz...

Harry: I'm serious, Lou. I'm done. I decided when you threw me out. They're not worth it if this is possible.

Louis: You really like blaming the drugs for your dick in Brian's mouth, don't you babe?

Harry tucks himself in bed and responds to a text from Gemma asking how their session went. But he has trouble answering. It went, but he's still not clear on if it went well or not. It was two solid hours of dissecting how and why he'd murdered their ten-year romance. 

Therapist: Let's talk about fidelity for a minute, fellas. What do your marriage vows mean to you? Harry, you first.

Harry: My marriage vows? They mean I've promised to love Louis forever. And I do. I will. 

Therapist: You seem to use those words a lot, Harry. But what does loving Louis forever mean to you? What are some examples of the way you love Louis? 

Harry: How do I love Louis? You mean, how do I show him I love him?

Therapist: Ok. Sure. What are some ways you show Louis you love him?

Harry: ... I ... I don't know. Shouldn't Louis tell me what things I do that show him I love him?

Therapist: No. I'm asking you, Harry, what are some of the tangible things you do to show Louis that you love him?

Harry: I make him food. I do all the cooking in the house. I do the housework, too. I mean I do the laundry and the dishes. I decorated the house. I do all the shopping. I ask him about his day. I want to know about his day, too. I like spending time with him.

Therapist: Ok. Louis, what do you think about Harry's examples?

Louis: I think they're more for him than for me. 

Harry: What? How can you say that? I've been working my ass off to cook you meals you love...

Louis: Yeah but Haz I never asked you to do that. You like keeping house. You don't like the way I cook or do the chores. You told me that yourself. You love shopping...

Harry: And you hate it!

Louis: Yeah but you didn't start doing it cause I hate it. You started doing it cause you wanted to.

Gemma is sympathetic and texts Harry back to give it time. And he plans on it. They already have their next session with their therapist scheduled for the following week.

Therapist: Ok Louis, how are you feeling about things right now?

Louis: I'm fucking exhausted.

Therapist: Understandably. But I meant more along the lines of Harry's approach to fixing this?

Louis: ... I'm fucking exhausted. No, Haz, just listen... you're crying constantly. And I am, too. And I don't think anything you do or I do is gonna change that anytime soon. But... sometimes it seems like... it's just not fair.

Therapist: What's not fair, Louis? Can you elaborate for Harry?

Louis: It's just that, even though I'm the one who got cheated on, I'm the one who got their heart broken, somehow HE'S the one that is hurting worse. And it's like... I can't say what I'm really thinking... or react the way I want to... cause he's always crying.

Harry: Lou, of COURSE you can say what you're thinking. I want you to! And of course you can react how you want to...

Louis: No, see, I can't. Because if I did, you'd just... you told me... you can't handle it.

Harry: ...You mean you wish you could just leave me? Throw me out again?

Louis: ...Yes. Sometimes. And then... No, other times.

Therapist: I think that's understandable, don't you Harry?

Harry: ...Yes. Yes I suppose so... I never meant to make you feel like I'm hurting worse, Lou. Or that you can't say or do what you want or need to. I'll try to do better. 

Louis: Oh for Fuck's sake, Haz! Jesus. Here we go! The pity party starts.

Harry tries to read a bit in bed, turning out the lights except for Louis' bedside lamp. But he can't really concentrate on his book. He's turning over everything Louis said. Everything they didn't say, but still need to. 

Therapist: Rebuilding trust after it's broken is a long process, fellas. And it takes work. There's no overnight fix for something like this. But the good news is that it can happen. It sounds like your sister, Harry, knew what she was talking about. In many ways, the two of you are starting over. But that doesn't have to be bad. Many couples try to look at it as a time of rediscovery; a chance to fall in love all over again, with those same rushes of newness, excitement and pleasure that tend to have mellowed over time in a long-term relationship. Of course, that also means that you'll likely have to relearn each other. There will be times of uncertainty and doubt. But, if you're both willing to work at it, and talk to each other, and give it the time it needs, I believe you can build a new relationship together. Maybe even one that is stronger than the first. It's happened to some. 

Harry must have dozed off, because the next thing he knows, the bed is dipping to his left and his book is being pulled off of his chest where it fell. Louis comes into focus just as he is setting Harry's book open but face down on Harry's night stand as he leans over Harry's body. 

"Hey," Harry sighs warmly as Louis crouches above him. 

Louis cuts two blue eyes down at Harry and smiles back. "Hey. You fell asleep reading."

Harry nods in his half-awake state and snuggles further under the covers. It's a chilly night and he had put on his coziest joggers and jumper along with socks before climbing into bed. And now a warm and cuddly looking Louis is on top of him. Lovely.

"Cold, love?" Louis whispers, still kneeling above Harry's body, his arms bracketing Harry in as he stares down.

Harry nods again as he turns and nuzzles one of Louis' arms where it's pressed into the mattress next to Harry's shoulder. Lou is warm. And soft. And he smells so fucking good. "Coming to bed?" Harry pouts, pressing a gentle kiss to the sleeve of Louis' shirt.

Louis' smile grows and is warmer than any smiles Harry's seen in awhile as he nods. "Yeah."

And then, before Harry has time to react or even fully register what is happening, Louis' face is coming closer to Harry's. Louis' lips are pressing softly against Harry's. Louis' body is laying gently on top of Harry's. Harry is in total heaven.

Harry's brain is on fire. It's soft and warm and tentative at first; their first real kiss since the thing. And part of Harry wishes he'd been more alert when it started, but he's plenty alert now. And anyway, Louis might not have done it if Harry had been wide awake to start. So it's fine, really. Better than fine. Amazing.

Louis' hands have slid up into Harry's curls and are raking softly along his scalp. Harry wants to return the favor, but his hands are trapped under the blankets and he doesn't want to stop the kissing just so he can readjust. So he presses his face up to Louis' enthusiastically, opens his mouth to Louis' wandering tongue with a sigh, hoping Louis gets the message.

The kiss heats up, then. Louis' tongue is purposeful as it licks into Harry's mouth, tasting him. 

Harry mewls at the sensation and finally gives in, struggling to pull his hands out from under the sheet and blankets, desperate to touch, but not interrupt Louis' ministrations at the same time.

Louis feels Harry's movement and raises up a bit, his knees on either side of Harry's hips. Harry feels his boy start to pull back from the kiss just as Harry's hands break free. So Harry captures Louis' hips in his massive hands and holds him there, raising his head off the pillow to chase Louis' mouth.

Louis grins down at Harry just before sinking back in to another open-mouthed kiss. And this time, Harry's tongue joins in the play. God, it's incredible. To be holding Louis like this again. To taste him. To be kissing his husband once more. 

"Fancy a shag?" Louis whispers without further ado into Harry's ear as he breaks their kiss to pull Harry's earlobe in between his teeth.

Harry's body reacts instantly, his dick fattening up in seconds. But in spite of his body's other ideas, his brain wonders briefly if this is a good idea, considering.

Therapist: I'll see you both in a week. In the mean time, your homework is to be true to your feelings. If something feels good, do it. If it doesn't, don't. And talk about the things that are confusing. Or worrisome. 

Well this feels good. So Harry's going to keep it up. His therapist told him to. 

Harry is nodding urgently in reply even as he's gasping because Louis' tongue is wickedly tracing along Harry's earlobe. 

Louis pulls back to grin at Harry, his eyes crinkling, and Harry's heart skips a beat.

God, Louis is gorgeous. So beautiful. And Harry doesn't even try to hold back from saying that aloud. 

"Shhh," Louis whispers, whipping his shirt off over his head before capturing Harry's mouth urgently in his once more.

Harry doesn't waste the opportunity to touch every last inch of Louis' bare chest, back, and arms. His fingers that have been aching to touch Louis for weeks are finally soothed as he runs the pads of his fingers along Louis' abs. He shivers as he touches the wisps of hair just above the waste-band of Louis' trackies.

To Harry's complete joy, Louis sighs into the touch and then roughly yanks Harry's jumper off his head, as well.

Harry, now topless, too, lays back against the pillows and stares in awe as his fingers trace the lines of muscle running up along Louis' naval. 

"Love you so much, Lou," Harry sighs just before dipping his fingers under the waste-band to pull Louis' bottoms down enough so Harry can palm Louis through his shorts. "Want to touch you, please."

And it was sort of a question, so Louis nods in reply, his own hands along Harry's pecks now, the pads of his thumbs rubbing along Harry's top two nipples.

Harry moans at the touch and proceeds to gently ease Louis' trackies down with his left hand and palm Louis' erection with his right. He feels so good, there, in Harry's hand. He's hard and thick and just...

"Fuck, Lou, let me taste you finally, please," Harry begs, wrapping his hand around Louis as best he can through the thin fabric of his shorts. 

Louis' hands cease teasing Harry's nipples as he kneels above Harry still. But then he closes his eyes briefly before nodding. 

Harry tries desperately to pull Louis out of his shorts as Louis shuffles forward onto Harry's bare chest. And awkwardly, with one hand now cupping Louis bare ass and the other gripping Louis' stiff, beautifully pink cock at the base, Harry raises up off the pillow to lap gently at the head of Louis' perfect dick. 

He tastes as he always has, warm and sweet. Harry's eyes roll back into his head in utter joy as he eases his lips around the head of Louis' cock, gently pushing Louis by the butt cheek to encourage him to thrust forward just a little into Harry's mouth. And all Harry can think is he's missed this so much and thank you, god, thank you. 

Louis seems to whimper as Harry hollows out his cheeks and moves both hands to clutch at Louis' luscious rounded bum. At the sound, Harry moans around Louis' cock in reply and redoubles his efforts, sucking Louis deeper and deeper into his mouth with each shallow thrust Louis gives him.

This is enough for Harry - for it all to be about Louis. To hold Louis like this. To taste him. To hear his soft little whimpers, sighs and exhales. But as usual, Louis is in charge, and he has other ideas. 

"Want to hold you," Louis whispers from above Harry just as he's pulling out of Harry's mouth and shuffling off of him. 

Harry's dazed and his mouth feels raw and empty but he watches as Louis stands and pulls the rest of his clothes off. He comes back to himself enough to lift his hips when Louis pulls the blankets off him and undresses Harry, too. Then Louis is climbing atop him again and his mouth is hot and wet and insistent as he pulls Harry's face to his. 

Louis has always been passionate- unafraid to show what he wants and, often, to simply take it. Harry's just as in love with that part of his husband as ever as Louis rolls Harry to his side so they're laying face to face, naked, their legs entwined, and Louis is kissing and kissing and kissing him. 

Harry is out of breath. His heart is pounding and his vision is fuzzy. But his hands, nose, and mouth are full of Louis. He presses in closer - as close as he can get. 

"Love you, love you, love you," Harry is chanting under his breath just as Louis is wrapping his strong right hand around Harry's cock and stroking it twice.

"Need lube," Louis replies, and Harry is so out of it, but he manages to arch back and fumbles to reach as far as he can to Louis' night stand drawer so he can get the lube while Louis still has Harry's cock captured in his hand. When he settles back, he holds the tube up triumphantly and is met by Louis' filthy grin. 

Harry grins right back and flips the cap open, dribbling some lube in his own hand first, surprising Louis by capturing Lou's cock in his own hand, stroking him firmly half a dozen times before Louis is hissing and biting at Harry's pectorals. 

"Fuck," Louis grunts, starting to thrust his strong hips in time with Harry's strokes. "Fuck, want you, too," he hisses.

And Harry obliges by dribbling some lube over Louis' hand, Louis fisting at Harry's cock aggressively the moment the first drop hits his fingers. 

Harry barely has time to flip the cap closed and toss the lube behind Louis' back before he's lost in Louis' practiced strokes, his own free hand scrabbling to grip Lou's hip with the hand that isn't getting his boy off.

The next few minutes are hot and wet kisses, moaning into one another's mouth, eyes staring heatedly into one another, and the slick sounds of wet palms stroking each other fast and tight. They've done this before, many many times, of course, but it's been awhile. It's reminiscent of their first times together, uncertain and desperate for each other as only teenage boys can be. They're desperate for each other now, too, though. It's obvious in the way Louis gets overwhelmed and presses his forehead to Harry's collarbone once or twice, and in the way Harry pants and bites into Louis' jaw. 

"Need you so much, Lou," Harry whispers, his forehead wet and sticky with sweat as he presses kisses into Louis' neck. "Need you always."

"I love you, Hazza," Louis cries sharply, out of breath as his body seizes. 

Harry watches, wide-eyed as Louis' face contorts and he comes, searingly hot on Harry's hand and stomach. 

"Love you," Harry manages to gasp before he is coming, too, pumping his hips into Louis' fist and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Louis shoulder. 

They both come down slowly, their hips finally stilling and their hands still grasping each other's spent dick possessively. 

Harry's eyes are threatening to tear up. He squeezes Louis closer with his free hand pressed to Louis lower back, a bit fearful Louis will roll away and disappear as he'd done last week after every time they'd been intimate. But Louis comes easily, pressing his head into the crook of Harry's neck and sighing contentedly as he wraps Harry's ankle between his own. 

"I love you so much, baby," Harry whispers into Louis' hair, now wet with sweat. 

"Love you, too, Haz," Louis replies, still panting as he presses a kiss to the top of Harry's shoulder. 

They don't manage to shower before they fall asleep. Harry has the sense to pull his jumper up off the foot of the bed to wipe them both down haphazardly before they collapse into each other and under the covers again. But he still wakes up crusty and gross. He doesn't mind. He pulls a warm, sleeping, and still-nude Louis closer to him in the bed. There had been a bit of a wet spot as they'd dozed off, but Harry had taken it gladly, his face hurting from smiling so much as he'd fallen asleep holding his boy. 

They'd had sex. Real, mutual, loving, hot sex. Over the years, they'd tried pretty much everything they'd both had an interest in, but pleasuring each other like they'd done last night, as close as they could be, kissing, looking into one another's eyes, would always have a special place in Harry's heart. It was loving and warm and intimate in a way that many of the other things they enjoyed were simply not. It meant something. And Harry was so fucking happy. 

When Harry had replayed every loving, sexy, meaningful moment of their tryst over in his head, and it was clear that Louis was going to sleep in, Harry quietly exited the bed for a quick shower and get Lou breakfast in bed. 

Nearly an hour later, as a clean and half-clothed Harry was heading down the hall to his boy, fully loaded breakfast tray in hand, he heard the unmistakeable sound of Louis talking. 

"Hey Lots," Lou was saying warmly, still sleep-drowsy clearly, by his half-muffled tone. "Yeah, s'alright here. How are things there?"

Harry stops in his tracks as Lou is clearly on the phone. He hears a pause in Louis' end of the conversation, but not much of one before Louis is chuckling.

"Yeah, all right, all right, Love. Yeah... things are better... good, even, I'd say," Louis huffs out a quiet laugh.

Harry's heart leaps at the warmth and happiness so obvious in Louis' tone. 

"No, really," Louis continues, "We had our first marriage counseling session yesterday. Went all right. Got the next one in a week."

Harry looks down at the tray of bacon, toast, and tea. He should maybe step away, he thinks, not eavesdrop. But it's too tempting at the moment. 

"Well... I suppose you wouldn't understand, Lots," Louis says with a quiet sigh to his sister. "But it's all right. As long as Hazza and I do," Louis says wisely.

Harry turns away, grinning so hard his face might break. He shuffles down their hallway back to the kitchen. He'll give Louis a few minutes of privacy to finish his phone call with Lottie. Maybe load the dishwasher. Things are good, considering. And Louis is wise. He's always been. And, Louis is right; all that matters is that Louis and Harry are trying to understand each other. Choosing each other. Every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my son for convincing me that if it makes me feel good, I should do it. And fuck anyone who would argue.


End file.
